


Fallout

by grey2510



Series: Light's Grace!verse [20]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amazons - Freeform, Bisexuality, Brothers, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Episode: s07e13 The Slice Girls, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, F/M, Fallen Angel Castiel, Fatherhood, Goddesses, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Minor Character Death, Oracles, POV Alternating, POV Castiel, POV Dean Winchester, POV Original Female Character, POV Sam Winchester, Post-Episode: s08e19 Taxi Driver, Purgatory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-12 08:01:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 33,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4471535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grey2510/pseuds/grey2510
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's girlfriend, Olivia, comes across a case that forces Team Free Will to face not only the dangers of the case, but the repercussions of decisions made in their pasts.</p><p>Canon-divergent after 10x14 and follows the events of the previous parts of the Light's Grace!verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Baby Whisperer

**Author's Note:**

> **LG!V TIMELINE: February 2016**   
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the first few chapters are really a follow-up to ["Choices".](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3947707/chapters/8849518) Quick refresher: Gabriel put Dean and Cas in an alternate reality where they were just normal folks raising toddlers Claire and Ben, while Sam and Jess were married with kids, John and Mary were alive, and Charlie was Dean's bestie and co-worker. At the end, Gabriel gave them the choice of staying or returning to real life. Cas demanded the option of being able to remember the fake world or not. Dean had to remember (Cas' Grace in him messed up Gabriel's mojo), so Cas chose to remember, too; Charlie decided to forget and Sam opted to forget because he couldn't deal with having to remember a life with Jess and their children.
> 
> Really, though, if you haven't read "Choices", there's quite a bit throughout this fic that won't make any sense.

“I told you we should have taken my truck,” Sam remarks to the only visible part of Dean—his legs—since the rest of his brother is on a creeper board under the Impala.

“Yeah, yeah, you already had your big ‘I told you so,’” Dean grouses through this teeth. “Fine, next time we have a case in the middle of Nowhere, West Virginia we can take the truck.”

Sam knows the only reason Dean would _ever_ concede to that plan is because of whatever damage the mountainous backroads have done to the undercarriage of Dean’s beloved car. For a moment, Sam also revels in the thought of being able to tell his brother, ‘Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole’ as he plays—from his iPod! Oh, the horrors!—something from this century. It’s the little things in life.

From a workbench set off to the side in the garage, Dean’s phone rings, and the elder Winchester swears quietly from underneath the car.

“Wanna grab that for me, Sammy?”

“Sure,” Sam says, already at the bench. “It’s Claire.”

“Well, answer it. Just put it on speaker.”

Sam hits the accept button as he returns to the car. “Hey, Claire. It’s Sam. I’m gonna put you on speaker—Dean’s under the Impala.”

“Hey Sam,” Claire’s voice, tinny through the speakers, replies. Sam sets the phone down on the floor by Dean. “I, uh, got a question for Dean.”

“Shoot,” Dean answers, slightly muffled.

“Ok, so, you remember my friend from high school—Heather?”

Sam gives a bitter half-grin, remembering the night Claire, Heather, and their other friend, Kyle, became unfortunate pawns in a terrible scheme by Rowena to off the Winchesters on Crowley’s behalf.

“Yeah, I remember,” Dean strains as something clatters under the car. “Dammit. Sorry, what’s up?”

“Right, so we were hanging out and her aunt called up asking her to take care of her baby cousin. Kind of a last minute emergency thing.”

“Ok…” Dean answers, and Sam agrees, wondering why Claire called to tell him this.

“Is everything all right?" Sam asks.

“Yeah, kinda. Max—the baby—won’t stop crying. And suddenly he has a fever and we don’t know what to do. And Heather’s aunt isn’t answering the phone. I dunno if you know what to do, but...”

Sam raises his eyebrows in surprise at Claire’s request, but at the same time, feels vicariously pleased for his brother that Claire felt she could call Dean about this. The tinkering under the car stops and Dean wheels out. Still sitting on the board, he wipes his forehead with the back of a greasy hand but makes no move to pick up the phone.

Dean chuckles lightly, though more to himself it seems, as he replies, “It’s like déjà vu with Cas.”

“What?” the teen asks.

“Nothing. Long story. Ok, how old’s the kid?”

“Um…” Sam can hear Claire ask something to someone else, most likely Heather, before responding. “Eight months.”

Dean nods sagely, which puzzles Sam. Sure, his brother’s pretty good with kids, but as far as he knows, the guy doesn’t have much experience in the specifics of child development, especially for babies. His puzzlement continues when Dean asks, “Does he keep trying to chew on his fingers or toys?”

“Yeah.”

“Ok, sounds like the kid is teething,” Dean answers, reaching for a rag and wiping off some of the grime from his hands. “Check the freezer: see if there are any frozen washcloths or frozen soft toys for him to chew on. If not, get a clean washcloth, get a few ice cubes and break ‘em up into ice chips with the back of a spoon, then tie them up in the end of the washcloth for the kid to gnaw on.”

Now Sam is completely shocked, his brain rapidly trying to piece together how Dean knows all this, and so easily. Yeah, he knows Dean took care of him quite a bit when they were younger, but Dean was only in kindergarten when Sam was at that age—and back then, even Dad hadn’t completely given up care duties. Sam also has vague memories from his soulless period of Dean taking care of the shifter baby, but not to this level.

There’s rustling and a side conversation on the other end of the phone. “There’re some frozen washcloths in here,” Claire informs them after a few seconds.

“Good. So, for the fever, find some infant Tylenol. _Check the dose._ And make sure you write down how much you gave him and _when_ somewhere easy for Heather’s aunt to find when she gets back so the kid doesn’t get double dosed.”

“Um, ok,” Claire responds, but Sam’s pretty sure the hesitation has less to do with disbelief in the advice and more to with surprise about how knowledgeable Dean is on the subject. Again, Sam wonders why Claire even thought to call Dean in the first place, although considering her other options were probably Cas, himself, or Charlie, he supposes Dean was the (most) logical choice.

And isn’t that weird to think about.

“All right. Let me know it goes. Call me if you need anything or if you want me to come over,” Dean says, picking up the phone, his hands finally somewhat clean.

“Sure. Thanks, Dean,” Claire responds, sounding genuinely relieved and grateful. “Max likes the frozen cloth.”

A smile, both sad and pleased, creeps over the elder Winchester’s face. “Awesome,” he says before the two of them sign off. Dean looks down at the phone for a minute before shoving it in his pocket and wheeling back under the car. Sam can’t take it anymore.

“Dean, how did you know all that? Since when did you become the Baby Whisperer?”

“I dunno, it’s what worked for Claire when she was that age.” Silence from under the car, and Sam can see his brother’s body freeze.

“Wait, what do you mean, ‘it worked for Claire when she was that age’? We met her when she was _twelve_.” No response from Dean, and a thought occurs to Sam, though he can’t imagine why this topic would ever come up. “Is it something Cas told you? Like a memory of Jimmy’s?”

Dean wheels back out from under the car and gets up, but refuses to look at Sam.

“No, it’s not one of Jimmy’s memories,” the elder Winchester deflects vaguely.

“Then what? And...why did you say it was like déjà vu with Cas?”

At this, though, Dean looks up and smirks. “I never told you that story? Cas’ Adventures in Babysitting?”

“No…” This conversation is just getting more and more confusing, and while Sam knows Dean is avoiding the original question about Claire, at least he’s willing to talk. Maybe the Cas anecdote will give an opening for some real answers.

“It was when Cas was human the first time and I went up to Idaho on that case he found. So, his boss at the Gas-n-Sip asked him if he was free that night and he figured it was a date—although, to be fair, I was there when she asked about the time, and I thought she was flirting with Cas, too—but it turns out she just wanted Cas to babysit while she went out on a date with someone else. Poor bastard.”

“Is this when the angel medic or whatever showed up?” Sam asks, remembering some of the details of the case from what Dean had told him. Dean had been oddly quiet about it, and Sam had always wondered just what had gone down in Idaho—particularly with Cas.

“Yeah,” Dean nods. “But, uh, the kid ended up gettin' a fever and Cas had been about ten seconds from taking her to the hospital. I think he kinda freaked because he didn’t have his mojo anymore so he couldn’t just make her feel better. Anyway, after we got rid of Dr. Kevorkian, I showed him the infant Tylenol. Then the mom came back, we left, and uh...that was it.”

Sam suspects there’s more to the story, though he also suspects it has nothing to do with babysitting. But back to the topic at hand. “Ok, so infant Tylenol I get—I haven’t been around kids much but that seems pretty obvious to me. But the whole teething thing? The frozen washcloths? And you still haven’t told me how you know what worked for Claire as a kid.”

“Just drop it, Sammy,” Dean says, suddenly angry. But Sam knows his brother and can see the pain behind the anger.

“Dean, what is it?”

“What part of ‘drop it’ don’t you get?” his brother snaps, looking around the garage for something to keep him from having to answer. But, he seems to realize that anything he does is going to more or less trap him while Sam waits him out for an answer. And Sam can be very patient when he wants to (how else could he have survived living with his brother?).

“Dean—”

But it’s too late: Dean storms out of the garage, not even bothering to put away his tools or finish the work on the Impala. Sam sighs, and runs a hand through his hair. Dean’ll be back, but he won’t want to talk. And, if Sam knows his brother, Dean’s probably pissed that he had to leave one of his refuges in the bunker and is now probably either storming around the kitchen or in his room.

Sam considers putting away the tools and cleaning up, but suspects if he does, he’ll probably have to listen to Dean bitch about how things didn’t get put back in the right place or something stupid. At the very least, though, he flips the creeper board over, wheels up, so that no one trips over it and does a painful impression of the slipping on a banana peel gag.

The younger Winchester makes his way to the library, resigned to not getting any answers from his brother about the utter weirdness of that conversation, when Cas comes in, looking concerned.

“Sam,” his friend says by way of greeting.

“What’s up, Cas?”

The shorter man’s eyes flick back and forth before landing on Sam again. “It’s Dean. He just came in from the garage and seems upset, but won’t explain why. I know you were there with him...did he say…?”

“No, man, that’s just it. One minute, he’s on the phone with Claire while she’s babysitting and he’s being all Dr. Spock—not the _Star Trek_ one, the parenting expert one,” Sam clarifies when he sees Cas squint in confusion (and there’s a part of Sam that still marvels at Cas understanding pop culture references, even if it’s been a couple years since Metatron zapped him), “and the next minute, he’s talking about what Claire was like as a baby, and then when I ask him what the hell he’s talking about, he just storms off.”

Sam was hoping for Cas’ expression to clear in understanding; what he wasn’t expecting was for the understanding to hit like a crushing blow and for Cas' shoulders to slump so drastically.

“I—I need to go…” Cas says, turning abruptly, but Sam catches his arm.

“Cas, what’s going on?”

“Nothing you need to worry about,” Cas replies, looking decidedly uncomfortable and avoiding Sam’s gaze.

“Bull. Obviously something’s eating at both of you and you’re keeping something from me.”

“I’m not sure I should be the one to tell you,” Cas offers finally.

“Yeah, well, somehow I doubt Dean’s gonna share and care, so it’s on you. He’s my brother and you’re my friend. You gotta tell me. Cas, what’s wrong?”

Cas takes a seat at the long library tables, so Sam follows suit across from him. For a moment, Cas looks down at his hands before beginning.

“Do you recall the vampire nest we hunted in January? When I got the concussion and you injured your leg?”

Sam’s brow furrows, but he nods. “Yeah…”

“While, I was...passed out...Gabriel came.”

It’s almost as though Sam can feel his brain screeching to a halt. “What?! _Gabriel?!_ I thought he was dead!”

“Apparently we were wrong. When Metatron added him to the ‘story’ he was writing with the Angel Tablet, he inadvertently brought back Gabriel for good. Gabriel said something along the lines of it being difficult to kill an idea.”

“So, what, Metatron tulpa-ed Gabriel back into existence?” In a strange way, it makes sense.

Cas smirks unhappily. “That’s exactly what Dean called it.”

“Wait, hold on. Dean and you _both_ knew Gabriel was back a month ago and I’m just finding out _now?_ ”

Cas looks up, eyes wide, and Sam can see a myriad of emotions warring on his friend’s face. After a moment of obvious inner conflict, Cas finally says, “Sam, I’m sorry you are just learning now. You can’t...I can’t tell you everything, and you have to understand that Gabriel’s visit was difficult on both of us.”

Sam is seething. Once again, his brother has decided there’s something Sam doesn’t need to know instead of letting him make up his own damn mind. Seriously, Gabriel, the only archangel left (apparently) and the only one who has any points in the ‘Good’ column in the Winchesters' book (although, as far as Sam’s concerned, after Mystery Spot and TV Land, that winged asshole will need a lot more points to ever truly get on his good side), is alive and kicking and no one thought to tell him? _What the hell._ And even worse, _Cas_ was in on it. Sam expects this crap from Dean, but ever since Dean's demon "vacation", Sam and Cas have had a fairly open friendship.

“Sam, I know you are angry we didn’t tell you. But please, understand...it wasn’t exactly our decision.”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“That’s part of what I can’t tell you,” Cas sighs. “What I can tell you is that Gabriel created an...alternate universe, of sorts. If I had to compare it to anything, it would be a djinn dream—the good kind.”

“No such thing as a good djinn dream,” Sam retorts, although he has yet to experience one (not that he’s chomping at the bit to do so).

“I suppose you are right. After seeing Gabriel’s world, and after my own time in the fear djinn’s nightmare, I’m not sure which is worse.” Cas looks distantly over the bookshelves, longing and pain heavy in his eyes.

“What did Gabriel make you see?” Sam asks, more gently than before.

Cas slumps backwards in his chair, looking utterly defeated. “Dean and I were not hunters, I was never an angel. We had a house, ‘civilian’ jobs, your family was alive, and Claire and Ben were our children. Claire was three, Ben was only a year old. We were happy, and safe.”

“Oh…” Sam breathes. He understands now: leaving a nightmare is one thing, but leaving paradise? “So when Dean said he knows what Claire was like as a baby…”

“Yes,” Cas nods. “I woke up in that world with only memories of the real world and none of that one, though I eventually gained them. Dean was given all of that alternative life’s memories from the start, although memories of the real world began to bleed through. Gabriel gave me the option of choosing between the two lives. Once I chose this world, he gave us—me—the option of not remembering his world, but I chose to remember.”

“Why? Why would you want to remember that?” Sam asks.

“Because Dean _had_ to. Because I used my Grace to cure the Mark and bound Dean’s soul with it, Gabriel’s power couldn’t overwrite Dean’s memories completely. I couldn’t let Dean shoulder that burden alone.”  

Sam sits back, taking it all in. He thinks back to the days following that hunt, how both Cas and Dean had been reluctant to leave the bunker for another hunt, how they’d stuck around him and Claire more, how he’d caught Dean on the phone with Ben several times. It all makes sense now.

“Damn, that is fucked up,” Sam eventually offers, painfully aware how paltry his words are. “I’m so sorry, Cas.”

“As am I,” Cas agrees. “But I think it affected Dean even more, to see what could never be.”

Sam considers the man across from him, this man who used to be a powerful celestial being before throwing his lot in with the Winchesters and deciding on a human life—a human life that would probably never be peaceful (not that his angelic one had been).

“Did you...not want that kind of life?” Sam asks cautiously, not sure how to broach the topic of a ‘civilian’ life with the former angel. Cas looks thoughtful at the question.

“I don’t think it’s a question of not wanting that life. It’s…” Cas pauses. “I am extremely old, Sam. Having, or even wanting, _anything_ beyond the will of God and Heaven is an incredibly new concept for me, relatively speaking, though it is an idea to which I have become firmly attached. When I decided to fall permanently, to accept a mortal life, my only consideration of what that life would entail was the one I—we—are currently living. Gabriel’s world was wonderful, I can’t deny that, but I never longed for that, or even though it remotely possible, not the way your brother has his whole life. Even if he buries those wishes and desires deep within him.”   

“Not that deep,” Sam replies with a small smile. “Dean’s always been good with kids, and whenever he says he wants me to go have the ‘apple pie life,’ I know it’s because that’s what _he_ wants, but figured he couldn’t ever have.”

Cas nods sadly. “I should go talk to Dean,” he says as he begins to stand up.

“Can I?” Sam asks, and Cas looks at him, clearly puzzled. “You shouldn’t always have to be the one who picks up my brother and puts him back together.”

The other man huffs a laugh. “Neither should you, Sam.”

“Yeah, well, what’s the saying? ‘He ain’t heavy, he’s my brother?’” Sam claps his hand on his friend’s shoulder as he leaves the library.


	2. Strange Happenings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For reference, Olivia was introduced in ["Bonding"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4061122/chapters/9139771) and ["The Family Business".](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4170522/chapters/9414669)
> 
> I don't usually do this much reference back to previous works, but this fic really relies on the earlier parts of the series (especially at the beginning).

“Is it really that hard to get groceries up on the belt efficiently?” a voice behind her grouses, and Olivia Cipriani can’t help but smirk as she waits rather impatiently for the guy in front of her in the check-out line place each item almost reverently on the belt, each at least five inches from each other, so that there’s no chance of Olivia being able to snag the divider and get her purchases up and out of the basket.

She turns around to give the complainer an eye-roll of solidarity and finds a rather hassled looking young mother bouncing a toddler on her hip. The child, a cherubic little girl with dark brown eyes that are almost black, and thick crinkly hair, is practically nodding off on her mother’s shoulder, a few fingers tucked into her mouth and drool getting dangerously close to mom’s collar. Olivia looks down at her hand basket, and as much as she just wants to get home and relax with a glass of wine, the harried woman behind her changes her mind.

“Why don’t you go first?” she offers. “Your little one looks like she’s reached her limit.”

The tension in the other woman’s shoulders visibly loosens and a warm smile brightens her whole face. “Really? You don’t mind?”

Olivia shrugs. “The only thing waiting for me to get home is a bottle of Merlot and Netflix.”

The mother laughs softly, obviously trying not to disturb her daughter. “Thank you so much.”

“No problem. Here,” she says, grabbing a divider and putting it on the belt, the man finally having emptied his cart, and she starts helping the other woman get her items out. The two make short work of it, and the toddler just looks at Olivia with increasingly sleep-heavy eyes.

“Seriously, thank you,” the mother says again as she watches the cashiers ring up and bag her food. “I’m Sula.”

Olivia takes the offered hand and introduces herself. “New to the area?” Sula gives her an odd look. “Sorry, it’s your accent. New York?”

Sula laughs. “Rhode Island. Everyone always says New York when they hear me say an ‘o’, or Boston when they hear me drop an ‘r.’ And yeah, Caylyn and I just moved here a couple weeks ago. My husband and I just divorced and I needed a new start.”

“Well, I guess Nebraska’s pretty new then,” Olivia acknowledges with a smile. “Welcome to the middle of nowhere.”

Sula snorts lightly as she hands over a credit card. “Apparently not as much the middle of nowhere as I thought. I must be bad luck: I show up and a week later the place is on the news for multiple murders.”

Olivia gives the other woman a startled look and pauses emptying her own basket. “Multiple murders?”

“Yeah, you haven’t heard? Over in Owl Creek?”

“No,” Olivia shakes her head guiltily. With mid-year parent-teacher conferences this week, she’s barely had time to do anything more than skim the national headlines; in fact, grocery shopping today was a matter of desperation: she’s practically down to ketchup and pasta, and while she really needs to do a full shop and restock, a handbasket of essentials is all she has energy for right now. “It’s been a crazy week. Seriously, multiple murders?”

Sula nods, pushing her basket out of the way so Olivia can get to the register. “Yeah. Really nasty, too.” The other woman flicks her dark eyes around as though embarrassed about bringing up such a distasteful topic in public. “Like, limbs cut off and weird symbols carved into them.”

“Oh my God,” Olivia breathes, horrified. “Do the police know anything?”

“No,” the mother shakes her head, just as Caylyn begins to whine against her shoulder. Sula bounces the girl and makes soft shushing noises as she rubs a hand on her back. “I’m sorry, not the best of topics to end a conversation on, but I really gotta get her home.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” the teacher nods. “I’m sorry. I promise Nebraska isn’t all like this.”

Sula gives a wan smile. “I know. Bad stuff can happen anywhere. Just never expect it to be where you are, right?”

Olivia considers the way she met her boyfriend: her neighbor was a witch who was thrown out his window by a member of a rival coven, and Sam and his family had put an end to the witch warfare. Obviously, she can’t reveal that to this poor woman in front of her, so instead she just nods and offers an agreement.

The two women part ways, and Olivia returns to her townhouse quickly. After hastily putting away her purchases, she hops on her laptop and looks up the murders. She skims through a few articles—enough to make the bile rise in her throat—and then digs out her phone.

She has a funny feeling the police won’t be able to handle this case.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I know nothing about Nebraska, so I just made up a town name. For convenience purposes, I'm gonna say it's about an hour from Lebanon, KS.


	3. The Apple Pie Life

The younger Winchester waits an hour or so to give his brother a chance to cool off, and when he tracks him down again, Dean’s back in the garage finishing the job he started earlier. Most of the tools are put away, and Dean has his head under the hood, giving his Baby’s engine a final once-over before declaring all’s well and letting the hood slam back down.

Standing a respectful distance away, Sam lets Dean discover his presence on his own, hoping that the subtler approach will prevent Dean from storming off again. An unlikely prospect, but Sam’s gotta try. Dean looks up, sees Sam, and grunts. Sam holds out the "Hunter’s Helper" he brought with him, along with two glasses; short of pie, this is the best kind of peace offering he can bring Dean.

“What, you think if you get me drunk we’ll have a heart-to-heart and cry about our feelings?”

“Only if you want to,” Sam rolls his eyes. “Although I don’t trust you to braid my hair.”

Dean smirks and snorts, and even though Sam hates the stupid macho bullshit Dean usually pulls when it comes to talking, Sam’s at least glad that if he’s going to deign to engage in it, he got one up on Dean for a change.

“So lemme guess, Cas came and talked to you?” Dean asks as he accepts a tumbler from Sam and settles on a stool by the workbench. Sam pours his own glass, then leans back against the table.

“Yeah. He told me everything.”

Dean nearly chokes on his whiskey and his eyes widen in terror as they search Sam’s face. “Uh...everything?”

Sam’s brows knit in confusion. “Well, I mean he didn’t go into a lot of detail—which, knowing you two, I’m totally ok with—but yeah: Gabriel zapped you into a bizarro world like a djinn dream where you were living the apple pie life with Claire and Ben as your kids.”

“Oh, yeah. Right. That it?” Dean asks, almost too casually.

Sam wonders if this has something to do with whatever it is that Cas said he couldn’t tell him. But if Cas wouldn’t say, then there’s no way that Dean will; in fact, if he pressures his brother, Sam figures he’ll lose his chance to get Dean to tell him anything. Let it lie for now.

“Pretty much. Dean, I’m, ah, I’m sorry. Sorry you can’t have that.”

Dean huffs and looks away before downing the rest of his whiskey. “Yeah, well. That’s life.”

Sam sips at his whiskey while Dean gets up and pours himself another drink. _Maybe this wasn’t a good idea_ , Sam thinks, finally realizing now how Dean’s drinking has increased in the past month or so. The worst was definitely the year of the Leviathans, but Purgatory had pretty much dried his brother out. The Mark of Cain situation had been touch and go: some days Dean drank like there was no tomorrow (or at least, not one that mattered to him), or he’d go on a health kick and try to stop his inner demons of all kinds from taking over. Since Cas’ fall, though, Dean’s been relatively sober (“relatively” being the key word). But, something has clearly shifted, and Sam is suddenly irrationally frustrated with himself for not noticing and with Dean for not telling him something happened and letting him help.

Clearly his face has betrayed his thoughts because Dean narrows his eyes at Sam as he takes a swig from his glass. “Got something to say, Sammy?”

“I can’t believe you kept the whole Gabriel being back thing from me.”

“Didn’t see how it was your issue,” Dean counters, but Sam can spot a deflection a mile away and he sighs in exasperation.

“Cas said something about how you guys couldn’t tell me, but come _on_ , have we learned nothing about keeping shit from each other? When are you going to stop treating me like a kid who needs to be protected and can’t make up his own damn mind?”

Dean’s face goes slack before twisting into a sardonic sneer as he mutters, “If you only knew the irony of that statement.”

“What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Dean exhales as his expression turns to something of pained contrition and guilt. “You’re right, man. We shoulda told you about Gabriel and the whole other world and everything. I know I said I was gonna try not treating you just like my kid brother, but I, uh, I messed up on this one. That’s on me, not Cas, so don’t get pissed at him, ok?”

“Yeah, all right,” Sam sighs, understanding an apology from Dean even if the words are never explicitly said. They each drink deeply from their tumblers, although Sam is relieved when Dean puts his down on the workbench and doesn’t pour another. Sam runs a thumb over his glass as he cautiously broaches the next topic. “So, that life...is it still something you want? I mean, it’s pretty quiet out there, you could, I dunno, retire and—”

“It’s not gonna happen, Sammy.”

“But—”

“Look, I’ve seen what it could’ve been, just like I’ve seen what it would’ve been like if you said ‘yes’ to Lucifer and he won the Apocalypse, or what it would’ve been like to be a corporate douchebag, or a freaking actor. None of it was real. And that life? All domestic and shit? Seriously, I mean, what the hell would Cas and I do with a coupla kids? Become Dad and strap ‘em in the Impala when we go on a hunt?”

“That’s why I said ‘retire,’ Dean.”

“And do what? Work construction again? Last I checked, the job market’s pretty rough for a fuck up with just a GED. I’m thirty-seven, dude. I’m too young to retire, as you call it, and I’m too old to start over.”

“Technically, Cas is about a bagillion years old and he started over. Like, entirely.”

“Ha ha,” Dean snorts as he gets up from the stool and makes his way back to the car where he starts cleaning up the last of the tools and equipment. But, Sam can’t let his brother get away that easy.

“And you’re not just a fuck up with a GED, Dean. What part of that do you not get?”

“Obviously the core concept, Lana,” Dean snarks as he shuts a drawer in the workbench with probably more force than necessary. Sam rolls his eyes.

“ _Archer?_ Really?”

“What? It’s a good show.”

“It’s a cartoon.”

“C’mon, it’s about _spies_ and it's hilarious. And I’m surprised you don’t like it,” Dean says with a vague hand-wave in Sam’s direction. “All that nerd humor. They’ll freaking quote Melville and shit.”

“You know you just kind of proved my point, right?”

“Shut up.”

Sam finally puts his own glass on the bench, then crosses his arms. “Whatever. I’m just saying, think about it, Dean. I know you’ve always wanted out of this life. Why not try for it?”

Dean stops cleaning and looks seriously at Sam. “Are you going to?”

The younger Winchester’s shoulders fall. “Probably not.”

“Then why the fuck are you bugging me?”

“I dunno, Dean. Because it’s what you’ve always wanted.”

“Says the guy who’s only ever wanted to get out of this life. Stanford, Amelia…” Dean accuses.

Sam’s jaw clenches. “I thought you were done holding that over my head.”

“Just calling it like I see it.” Dean turns away and grabs the last of the tools from the floor near the Impala. “I’m not holding it against you,” he finally concedes. “What about Olivia?”

Sam looks around the garage, considering for a few seconds. “She says she’s ok with me hunting.”

Dean gives a half-smile. “Let’s hope it stays that way.”

Just as Sam opens his mouth to respond, his front pocket buzzes, and he digs out his phone. “Speak of the devil,” he mutters with a smile.

“Crowley? Or did Luci break free?” Dean smirks, and Sam rolls his eyes, both at his brother’s comment and at the fact that asking if the King of Hell or Satan is calling is actually a legit question.

“Figure of speech, asshole. It’s Olivia,” Sam says as he presses the green button while Dean waggles his eyebrows suggestively. Sam flips his brother off and walks a few feet away. “Hey, Liv. What’s up?”

“Sam?” Olivia says, her voice uncharacteristically small on the other end. Sam’s stomach drops as she continues, “I think I have a case for you.”


	4. Not Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: some mild discussion of bi-erasure/bi-phobia.
> 
> A/N: I am not bisexual, so Olivia and Dean's discussion is based on my experiences as a confidante for my best friend who is bisexual. If you are bisexual and this has not been your experience, I apologize--I'm in no way trying to speak for everyone's experiences.

By the time they call Claire to tell her they’re heading to Nebraska, pack up the Impala and the truck (both Dean and Sam insist on taking their respective vehicles, Sam arguing that he might stay a few extra days with Olivia after the case is over), and get to Olivia’s place, it’s almost eleven o’clock. Dean reflects at how much quicker it was to get on the road in the days before the bunker, but now that they don’t exclusively live out of their duffels, they have to actually put a little effort into preparing themselves for a hunt. It’s amazing how quickly one’s stuff gets spread out over a permanent living space.

The hunter’s eyes are grainy when they finally pull into Olivia’s neighborhood—a typical small-town road with mid-sized houses that look at least thirty years old, and Dean has a feeling that if he could see more than what the Impala’s headlights reveal in the night, the houses would prove to be carefully and lovingly maintained. When they first met Olivia, she was living in an apartment building on the other side of town, but Sam says she no longer wanted to live there after the case involving her neighbor. Olivia’s new place at the end of the cul-de-sac is a bit of an anomaly to the rest of the neighborhood: it is the right-hand unit of a small line of townhouses that are clearly, even in the dark, far newer than the rest of the homes surrounding it.

Sam’s truck pulls into the short driveway, and Dean parks close to the curb in front of the yard. They’ve barely shut off the engines when the front door opens and Olivia comes out to greet them. As Sam envelops Olivia in a hug, Dean inwardly smirks at the height difference between her and his brother—it’ll never get old, unless Sam suddenly decides he has a thing for women’s basketball players (which Dean hopes will never happen: for the most part, he’s pretty confident in his own height at 6'1", but it sucks having a younger brother who’s taller, and he has no interest in dealing with the inevitable teasing he’d get if his brother’s _girlfriend_ was taller than him, too).

“Olivia, you remember Dean and Cas?” Sam says as they cross the snowy lawn to join them. Dean offers a hand, but Olivia ignores it and goes for the hug instead.

“Of course!” she smiles, releasing Dean and doing the same for Cas. Seeing the slightly surprised, but pleased, look on Cas’ face in the pale porch light makes Dean chuckle, and he thinks he might like Olivia. “C’mon in—it’s cold,” she says, hurrying back up the steps and into the warmth.

The townhouse is neat and light, even at night in the dead of winter, full of bright whites and colorful accents. Olivia immediately ushers them into the kitchen after they shuck off their boots and coats, and offers them something to drink.

“Beer if you have it, but water or whatever’s fine,” Dean says, looking around the kitchen and noticing the wine rack and tea kettle, and seriously doubting beer will be an option.

“Sure. I’ve only got winter ales, if that’s ok with you,” Olivia offers almost apologetically. Dean catches Sam smirk in the background and Dean fights an urge to flip off his brother for correctly guessing what Dean had assumed about the woman.

“That sounds perfect,” Cas assures her. Sam goes to the fridge to help grab the bottles, but Olivia swats him away.

“You go sit. You just got here,” she admonishes. The giant of a Winchester just smiles and rolls his eyes in defeat before leaning down to plant a quick peck on her lips. Dean can’t help but grin a little at the scene.  

They find themselves at the kitchen table, and automatically, Cas and Dean’s chairs end up far closer together than they started. Cas’ hand finds his under the table and they entwine their fingers on top of Dean’s knee. Sam stretches out his long limbs in a chair opposite them, looking entirely relaxed and at home. Olivia passes out the beers and Dean frowns at the label, not recognizing it.

“It’s a local brewery,” Sam explains. “We toured there last time I was over. It’s good. You’ll like it.”

Dean shrugs and takes a sip, smiling in appreciation at the taste, even though in the back of his mind, he finds it strange to hear Sam has done such normal, couple-y things as tour a local brewery with his girlfriend. He feels Cas' hand squeeze his in reassurance, almost as though Cas could read his thoughts, and they exchange a quick look.

“Olivia,” Cas begins after a moment, “I hate to bring this up now, but can you tell us about the case? We only heard some of it from Sam.”

“Right,” Olivia sighs, picking at the label of her own beer with her thumb. She looks to Sam, who reaches out and covers her other hand in his on the table. “So, I just found out about it this evening. A woman I met at the grocery store told me about all these freaky murders over in Owl Creek—it’s the next town over. I really only know what she told me and what I read in the articles.”

She gets up and goes into the next room, returning in a moment with a sleek silver laptop that Dean eyes a bit jealously, thinking of the battered one he got from Sam when his far more tech-savvy brother decided he wanted an upgrade. He should really talk to Charlie and see if she can hook him up with something better.

Olivia catches his gaze and shrugs, “Looks fancier than it is, trust me. It’s not like I got into teaching to make the big bucks.” She opens the computer, types a quick password, then spins the laptop so they can all see the screen. “There’s been three murders in the past week—all men, all in their homes, all with limbs cut off.”

“Can you forward us those links?” Sam asks as the three hunters peer at the articles.

“Sure,” she replies. “So, the other weird thing is Sula—the woman at the grocery store—said something about there being symbols on the bodies or something like that, but none of the articles said anything about that.”   

“Sounds like Amazons,” Dean supplies, although he regrets suggesting it immediately when he sees the look on his brother’s face. He shakes his head minutely, silently conveying that he doesn’t want to talk about anything other than the present case. Thankfully, for once, Sam gets the message.

“Liv,” Sam says instead, “what was this woman, Sula, like?”

It takes Dean a second longer than it probably should have to follow his brother’s train of thought, having been momentarily distracted by the thought of dealing with Amazons again. But, at least one of them is paying close enough attention to the details.

“Um, normal, I guess? She and her daughter just moved here a couple weeks ago she said, so she was kind of freaked by this happening.” Olivia looks between them. “Why? You think she’s involved or something?”

“Could be. She fits the profile, and she seems to know more than what’s in the papers,” Dean says, drumming his fingers on the table.

“How old was the child?” Cas asks, taking the question right out of Dean’s mouth.  

“I’d say probably a year and a half? She was pretty sleepy, so I didn’t hear her talk or anything.”

Dean snorts, thinking that if this woman and her kid are Amazons, it’s probably a good thing the girl didn’t talk and amaze or frighten the public with a college-level vocabulary.

“We’ll have to question her tomorrow,” Sam decides. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “We can divide and conquer between Sula and the morgue.”

“Yeah,” Dean agrees, taking a final sip from his beer. He smirks at Olivia and Sam. “Well, Sammy, you certainly plan the nicest visits for your girlfriend.”

“To be fair, I called him,” Olivia counters, and the couple exchanges weary but good-natured smiles.

Cas, who has been characteristically quiet and contemplative during the majority of the conversation, leans back in his chair and pushes the laptop softly back towards Olivia. “I don’t believe there will be anything we can do about the case tonight,” he says with regret before turning to Dean. “I should call Claire and let her know we made it here safely.”

“Good idea,” Dean smiles softly as his partner gets up from the table and placing a swift kiss on Dean as he rises.

Olivia and Sam have gathered the empty bottles at the sink, and Dean excuses himself to grab his and Cas’ duffels from the car. As soon as he steps outside, the cold wind bites through his flannel, and he regrets not bringing in their things when they first arrived. Returning to the house, he hears Cas on the phone with Claire in the living room, and he enters, signalling to Cas that he wants to speak with Claire as soon as Cas is done. Cas smiles in acknowledgement and holds up a finger.

“Hold on, Claire. Dean wants to talk to you.” Cas pauses and Dean can faintly hear the girl’s voice through the speakers, though not loudly enough to make out what she is saying. “Yes. Good night to you, too.”

Cas hands the phone over to Dean, then departs, giving Dean some space.

“Hey, kiddo,” he says as he puts the phone up to his ear.

“Hey to you, too, Dean. What’s up?”

“Nothing. Just wanted to check in. How’d things go with the baby?” Dean starts pacing as he talks, a habit he picked up somewhere along the way. Absently, he marvels at how much better he has become at actually  _talking_ on the phone beyond sharing the bare essentials of a case; but, with the amount of time he and Cas have to leave Claire behind while they are on a hunt, not to mention his semi-regular calls with Ben now, Dean has had to learn the art of long-distance communication. It had been clumsy at first with Claire, particularly since she hadn't been entirely on board either and they were still getting used to each other, but now they can talk like regular human beings...like a  _family._ It's...kind of nice.

“Fine. Heather’s aunt came back about an hour after we got him down to sleep. Man, I am _so_ not ready to be a mom,” the girl chuckles. “Kid’s cute and all, but I don’t want that 24/7.”

“Good. You’re eighteen, you better not want to be a mom yet,” Dean remarks, feeling relieved at Claire’s assessment, horrified at the thought of her having a kid so young, and guilty at the knowledge that he and Lisa weren’t that much older than Claire is now when Lisa got pregnant with Ben—not that Dean had known until years later (which only compounds the guilt factor).

“Yeah, don’t worry. I got that taken care of,” Claire assures him.

“I don’t think I want to know,” Dean shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“No, you really don’t and I don’t really want to share. Soooo...awkward conversations aside, how’s it going for you guys? What’s Olivia like? I’m pissed I still haven’t met her yet.” Dean swears he can almost hear the pout.

“She’s cool, you’d like her,” Dean admits, ending his pacing and settling on the couch. “You coulda come with us, you know.”

“Nah, I’ve got classes on Monday. Can’t skip.”

And damn if that doesn’t make Dean’s heart swell: his kinda kid doesn’t want to skip school because she actually gives a fuck about her education and doing something with her life other than the shit-show the Winchesters & Company always get dragged into.

“Right, look at you, all responsible about classes. Nerd,” he teases, knowing that Claire will understand what he means. John Winchester might be Dean’s father, but sometimes, especially when it comes to expressing affection and pride, Dean is Bobby’s son, through and through. Different vocabulary, same language.

“Yeah, whatever, loser,” Claire counters. “Hey, Heather’s trying to get me back so we can finish our movie. I gotta go.”

“No problem. Hey, uh, call or text me when you get back to the bunker tonight, ok?”

“You don’t have to worry about me, Dean,” Claire huffs, the eye-roll loud and clear through the phone. “Plus, Cas already pulled the worried dad shtick.”

“It’s our job, kid. Have fun with Heather, I’ll talk to you later.”

They sign off, and Dean almost pockets the phone before remembering that it’s Cas’, not his. He stands up from the couch and sees Olivia in the doorway, looking guilty.

“Sorry, I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop,” she says quickly.

“Don't worry about it. Nothing really worth overhearing,” he shrugs.

Olivia studies him with deep brown eyes. He must admit that she isn’t really Sam’s usual type—she’s far more curvy than his previous girlfriends—but, at the same time, she has one of those naturally pretty and fresh faces on whom any makeup beyond mascara and lip-gloss would look like she was trying too hard. His stomach clenches uncomfortably with the memories of Jess from the one time he met her at Stanford and from Gabriel’s dream world; she had been like that, too. Maybe Olivia is Sam’s type after all.

“That was Claire, right?” she asks, nodding at the phone. “You’re a good dad.”

“She’s, um, not really mine…” he sputters.

“I know,” Olivia interjects. “Sam told me you and Cas took her in after she lost her family. Doesn’t mean you’re not her dad.”

Dean snorts. “Yeah, well, my track record with kids is pretty shitty, considering how badly I fucked up my actual son’s life.” Olivia looks at him surprised, and Dean feels some surprise of his own that he’s even telling her this.

“You have a son?” she asks. “Sam never said.”

“It’s a long story. I didn’t know about him until he was eight, then his mom and I lived together for a year while Sam was...gone. It...uh...didn’t work out,” Dean explains awkwardly, unsure of just how much she knows about their pasts; he figures he shouldn’t be the one to tell her about Sam’s time in Hell, nor does he want to explain about how he asked Cas to wipe Lisa and Ben’s memories.

“Because of Cas?” she asks.

Dean blinks and jerks his head, at first thinking she is referring to Cas’ betrayal and deal with Crowley that year, before realizing she’s referring to their relationship. “What? No. Um, Cas and I weren’t really talking then, and we didn’t get together until much later.”

“But Cas was ok with knowing you were with your son’s mom?” Olivia asks, almost timidly. Dean frowns in confusion, and he clears his throat, uncomfortable with this much discussion of his personal life. Olivia looks away and her eyes flick to the floor, ashamed. “Sorry, I shouldn’t pry.”

For some reason, Dean feels bad for shutting her down and he decides to suck it up and answer her question. “Uh, no, it’s all right. But, yeah, Cas was ok with it. Why do you want to know?”

Olivia crosses her arms protectively over her chest and looks away. “In my experience, people get weirded out when you tell them you’ve dated the other side,” she offers. “‘Straight’, they get. ‘Gay’, they get. Anything in the middle? Not so much.”

Dean’s brain record-scratches to a stop. _Oh. Wait. What the fuck? How am I the one she’s coming out to?_ He shakes his head to clear it and chuckles bitterly, but not unkindly. “Olivia, I am _not_ the person to talk to about this shit. Hell, Sam and my friend Charlie practically had to fucking drag it out of me.” She raises an eyebrow at him. “Trust me, just tell Sam; he’ll be cool with it. He and our surrogate dad actually had a bet going on me and Cas. And the bastards weren't betting on 'if', they were betting on 'when' and 'how.'”

Olivia smiles and thankfully looks somewhat mollified and reassured by Dean's answer, as admittedly crappy as it is. Suddenly, a thought occurs to him about her earlier questions.

“Olivia, how much did Sam tell you about Cas?”

“Nothing, really,” she shrugs. “Just that you two worked together for a long time before finally getting together when Cas saved you from something last year.”

Dean’s eyes widen and his jaw nearly drops before he breaks out into laughter. “ _That’s_ what he told you?”

She turns her head and narrows her eyes. “Is it not true?”

“Oh no, it’s true. Just...wow, um, he kinda skipped a lot,” he breathes through his laughter. “Cas didn’t used to be human. He used to be an angel.”

The eyebrow raises again. “An angel? Like harps and Birkenstocks and wings?”

“Not so much with the harps and Birkenstocks, but wings, yes,” Dean explains, thinking of the first time he saw the shadows of Cas’ wings in the barn in Illinois; if just the shadows were that impressive, he can’t even imagine what the real things would’ve been like. “But, other than Cas, they’re pretty much assholes. More Old Testament righteous bastards, or manipulative and cocky dicks with wings.”

“Uh huh,” Olivia says, the disbelief and shock heavy in her voice. “So, how the hell did you get your own guardian angel?”

“Hell, actually,” Dean shrugs almost too casually, purposefully fighting off the memories of the Pit that always accompany this discussion. “He was sent on a mission to rescue me from Hell. And that’s part of a much longer story about us stopping the Apocalypse.”

“So that was true?” she asks. “Sam told me you guys did that, but I only kind of believed him. What happened?”

“You should ask Sam that story. He had a pretty big part in it, and that’s not for me to tell,” Dean sighs. “But, in any case, that’s how I met Cas—formerly Castiel, Angel of the Lord. And Claire. Her father was Cas’ vessel: angels have to possess a human, with permission, for us to see them without burning our eyes out. Claire’s father died, her mom ran off, and Claire eventually came to live with us after she and Cas saved me from a curse. And that’s what made Cas fall and become human.”  

Olivia leans back against the wall, her eyes wide at all the information. She takes a moment to process it all, and Dean can almost hear her brain churning. She lets out a long, heavy breath. “Ok, some day you and Sam are going to have to sit me down and tell me the whole story.”

“You sure?” Sam’s voice asks as he rounds the corner, standing awkwardly away from Olivia, as though unsure if his presence is welcome. Olivia pushes herself up from the wall, then crosses to Sam. Placing her arms on his biceps, she raises herself up on her toes to kiss him, even though he still has to duck his head for her to reach. He looks relieved as they part and she settles back down onto her heels, though she still holds on to his arms.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” she smiles. The younger Winchester returns the expression, and leans down to kiss her again. Dean takes this as his cue to leave.

He makes his way up the stairs to where he assumes the spare bedroom is, and finds Cas stretched out on the bed. He quickly changes into a t-shirt and pj pants, then crawls under the covers.

“Everything all right with Olivia? I heard you two talking for some time,” Cas asks as he wraps an arm around Dean’s waist and settles his head on Dean’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” Dean huffs, still reeling a bit from the conversation. He sighs, then retells what they talked about.

“Hmm,” Cas responds, after listening quietly. “I suppose it’s a good sign that she felt comfortable enough with you to discuss something so private, and that she obviously wants things to go well with Sam.”

Dean nods, even though in the dark, Cas can’t see it. “I guess I just never expected to be on the other end of that conversation. Or to tell her so much about myself.”

“I think that also says a lot about her,” Cas agrees. “I’ve only ever known you to be so open with Charlie. Not even to me or Sam, except when I could hear your prayers.”

Dean considers this. “I don’t tell you as much anymore, do I?” he admits apologetically.

“No, but I understand. It’s far easier to voice some thoughts when the other person can’t see you. It’s no different than a confessional box at a Catholic church.”

“I’m not Catholic.” Dean purposefully omits mentioning the one time he did do the whole confession shebang.

“Neither am I,” Cas retorts sardonically. “Somehow I think falling from the Host negates one's connections to the church.” Dean laughs softly in reply before falling quiet for a moment.

“I hope you don’t mind that I told Olivia about that.”

Cas shrugs, the movement awkward from his position under Dean’s arm. “I am not ashamed of what I was or what I am now. And if this is someone with whom Sam sees a future, she has a right to know.”

“I think she is, but that’s probably jinxing it for Sam. He doesn’t have much luck with girlfriends,” Dean remarks bitterly. They lay in the dark and the silence stretches, but not uncomfortably, for some time before Cas breaks the quiet.

“Dean?”

“Mm?”

“If this case is indeed about Amazons, will you be all right?”

Dean runs his free hand over his face. He almost gives his customary deflection before stopping himself and exhaling slowly. “I dunno, Cas.” He tries for levity, but misses by a mile. “But hey, I’ve got you now; you guys don’t have to worry about me hooking up with one of them again.”

“Dean.” Cas only has to say his name, but the admonishment is clear, and Dean sighs.

“Yeah, I know. It’ll be ok,” he reassures, though he isn’t sure if it’s for himself or for Cas.

“Just remember you’re not alone in this,” Cas says earnestly in a near whisper, and Dean’s tongue sticks in his throat like it always does whenever Cas says something like this.

Cas lifts his head to face Dean, and his eyes shine in the faint moonlight from the window. Dean has no words for Cas, and so he simply leans down and kisses him. Cas lifts himself up and over Dean, his mouth never leaving Dean’s, deepening the kiss. Dean grips his partner's shoulder and pulls him closer, while Cas’ hand finds purchase on the symbols he left on Dean’s forearm when he transferred his Grace to cure the Mark of Cain. As always, the Enochian sign for Cas’ name thrums in the ex-angel's presence, but when Cas’ fingers graze the mark, Dean can feel the remnants of Grace surge through his body. And in that moment, as they embrace, Dean knows the truth of Cas’ words, that he is not alone.  


	5. Partners

It’s not often that Cas awakes before Dean, but today is one of those rare occurrences. The hunter in Dean has learned after years of practice to live off of only a few hours of sleep—a concept Cas barely understood when he was an angel, and he remembers being quite impatient the nights he had to wait for his human charges to rest when there was work to be done. Now that he is human himself, however, Cas has found he quite enjoys sleep. When he fell, both times, he remembers feeling constantly exhausted, and he quickly gained an appreciation for the Winchesters who could accomplish so much when their bodies were so drained. His own body is still not quite as conditioned to operate with such little rest, and so he typically sleeps longer than either brother; Cas also suspects that Dean allows him this luxury, but Cas isn’t going to complain.

Olivia’s spare bedroom faces the road and the rising sun, and Cas blinks slowly awake. Dean’s breaths are still soft and steady beside him, and so Cas carefully extricates himself from the bed, a feat made easier than on some mornings since during the night they separated slightly from their entwined positions of when they fell asleep. Quietly, he pads down the stairs, following the smells of breakfast and the sounds of soft voices.

The scene in the kitchen is cheerfully domestic, and Cas hesitates in the doorway to observe without disturbing. Dean is always the one who cooks in the bunker, with Cas, or occasionally Claire, assisting. Cas knows that Sam can—and does—cook for himself now that he has his own apartment (though, even Sam admits, he is nowhere near as good as his older brother), but it is a rare sight to see the man do much more than pour coffee or make a sandwich. Here, though, Olivia and Sam comfortably share the culinary duties—Olivia stirring a large batch of scrambled eggs while Sam works diligently over a counter-top electric skillet making what appear, and smell, to be home fries.

Without any verbal communication, Sam leans over towards the stove and flicks open a cabinet that reveals a lazy Susan of spices, and Olivia barely reacts as she naturally shifts to allow Sam space. Cas reflects that it is not altogether different from how he and Dean work together: seamless and efficient.

Olivia catches Cas’ presence in her peripheral and she smiles. “Morning, Cas. Coffee’s ready, but I’ve got tea, too, if you’d rather have that.” She nods in the direction of the new-looking coffee maker. “Mugs are in the cabinet, left of the sink.”

“Coffee is fine,” Cas grumbles, trying and failing to shake the sleep from his voice.

“Good morning to you, too, Cas,” Sam smirks. “Don’t worry, I made the coffee, so it should be good.”

Cas furrows his brow and squints as Olivia whacks Sam on the arm with a grin. “Shut up. I don’t like coffee, ok? Not my fault my first attempt was crap because I’d never made it before.” She turns to Cas and explains, “Sam got a coffee maker when I moved here because apparently tea just wasn’t gonna cut it when he visits.”

“I like tea! Just...not as much as coffee,” Sam defends.

“At least I got you to start liking wine, so I’ll take the wins where I can,” Olivia teases.

Despite his groggy, pre-caffeinated state, Cas feels the corners of his mouth twitch up at their banter. He grabs the first of the mismatched mugs he comes across in the cabinet and pours himself a cup of that life-saving beverage. Only after a few sips does he look at the mug and discover it is covered in bright texts and fonts of Shakespearean insults. Personally, Cas still thinks “assbutt” is the pinnacle of invectives (it was enough to distract and anger two archangels, so obviously it must be a good “burn”, as Dean would say...although the Holy Oil Molotov delivered the burn far more literally), but after examining the mug, he thinks he might have to add “canker-blossom”, “lump of foul deformity”, and “not so much brain as ear wax” to his repertoire. (“Beetle-headed, flap-ear’d knave” also gets an honorable mention.)

Just as Olivia starts scooping eggs from the pan into a serving bowl, Dean makes his entrance into the kitchen. He wipes the sleep from his eyes as he greets the rest of them.

“Morning,” he grunts, then surveys the kitchen. “Sammy, you cooked? Is it safe?”

“Ha ha, I can cook, Dean. You just never let me.” Sam turns off the skillet and begins dishing out the potatoes into another bowl Olivia has provided.

“The home fries are actually pretty good,” Olivia says. “I never bother with them—I always get too impatient waiting for them to cook, but Sam doesn’t.”

Sam smiles with a faint trace of embarrassment at the compliment, then shrugs as if to say it’s nothing. Cas gets up and moves to the cabinet with the mugs, pulling one out for Dean. The hunter accepts the blue mug gratefully, giving Cas a quick “good morning” kiss before going to the coffee maker.

“Cas, in the cabinet next to you, do you mind grabbing some plates?” Olivia asks.

“Not at all,” he replies, quickly taking a stack and setting them on on the table with the silverware Olivia produces.

The foursome settles in around the meal, mostly silent as they tuck into their food and coffee (or tea, in Olivia’s case). Olivia finishes her last bite of toast, washes it down with tea, then broaches the topic of the case.

“So what’s your plan for today?” she asks, trying to keep her voice nonchalant.

The brothers exchange a quick look, one born of years traveling and hunting together. Sam puts down his fork and pushes back his plate before he responds. “Normally, we interview witnesses, check out the morgue, and then research more if we have to. But, we’re pretty confident of what this is, so hopefully we won’t have to research much.”

“We’ve dealt with this before,” Dean says lowly, and there’s an undercurrent of something hard and ugly in his tone that makes Olivia’s eyes widen and look to Sam for reassurance. The younger Winchester takes her hand and offers her a small smile.

“You said it was Amazons?” Olivia asks with some credulity. “Like, Wonder Woman or something?”

“No, they are not like the comic book heroine,” Cas supplies, and catches Dean’s slight smirk. “Real Amazons are monsters: they were a tribe of women who made a deal with the goddess Harmonia for protection after their population was decimated.”

“So what makes them monsters?” Olivia wonders. “Well, besides the whole murder thing.”

As Sam launches into an explanation of Amazonian procreation, aging, patricide, and super-human strength, Dean silently stacks up his plate with the others’ and brings them to the sink. Ignoring the dishwasher and Olivia’s protests, Dean starts up the water and begins cleaning the remnants of breakfast. Cas knows better than to try and stop Dean, recognizing his partner’s unwillingness to participate in the discussion and need for a distraction.

Cas may not have been around for the brothers’ first experience with Amazons—he had been living as the amnesiac healer Emmanuel and presumed dead by the Winchesters at the time—and he had not been physically present for Dean’s encounter with Emma in Purgatory, but he remembers the hunter’s prayer that night, the vicarious pain and guilt that had poured into the angel through Dean’s words:

_“Hey, Cas. Fuck, I wish you were here, man. You better not be dead. I, uh, could really use you. Today was just… Shit, it was bad. Where do I even fucking start?_

_Did I ever tell you about Emma? My freaking monster daughter? Probably not. You were MIA playing house with that Daphne chick and I thought you were dead… But yeah, Emma. Her mom was an Amazon, and they sent Emma to kill me ‘cause I guess that’s what all the Amazon girls do to join the tribe or whatever. But, Emma...she said she wanted help. Sammy said she wasn’t mine, not really, but she was, you know? Even when she pulled the knife on me, there was a part of me that figured maybe there was a way out of this. But then...Sam pulled the trigger and that was it. Christ, she was sixteen, Cas. Well, technically, she was only two days old, but she looked sixteen. Like she shoulda been in high school or at the fucking mall with her friends, not looking down the barrel of a gun held by her fucking father or shot by her fucking uncle. We left town and I tried not to think about her, not with Bobby gone, and the Leviathans, and you were… it was just too much._

_I found her again today, Cas. Benny doesn’t know. He killed her. Whole tribe of ‘em attacked us, and Emma was about to come after me when we saw each other and she knew, Cas, she fucking knew it was me. And she stopped, we both did. But it happened so fast. Benny came up behind her and killed her. So she’s gone. Again. For good. And it’s my fault again because I didn’t stop Sammy, I let her come to this fucking hellhole, and I didn’t stop Benny from killing her._

_Maybe Sam was right, she wasn’t mine. And maybe there was nothing I could to save her._

_But then why do I feel like shit about it?_

_Damn, Cas. No wonder you ditched my ass. Maybe I deserve to be here. Maybe I’m a monster, too.”_

“So, Dean and Cas, you guys should probably take the morgue and I’ll check out Sula. I’ve been in the area too many times to risk pulling the FBI gig,” Sam is saying when Cas’ attention snaps back to Olivia’s kitchen.

Dean nods from the sink. “Fine.”

“If you aren’t going to pretend to be FBI, how will you get information from Sula?” Cas wonders. The Winchesters have a myriad of aliases they use on cases, although the FBI identities tend to be the most effective.

Sam looks to Olivia. “Interested in a little undercover work, Liv?”

“What do you mean?” she asks cautiously.

“You met Sula already, so I figured we can track her down and pretend we just happened to be in the area and ran into her. Just an observe and report mission. Think you’re up to playing the part of my girlfriend?”

Olivia smirks and gives an appraising look, then shrugs. “Meh, had worse.” She grins and kisses him.

Dean, having recovered his composure by the sink, returns to stand by the table and swats his brother on the back of the head. “Get a room.”

“Glass houses, Dean,” the younger Winchester accuses, to which Dean simply cackles.

Cas gets up from the table. “I suppose we should change. Thank you both for breakfast, and thank you for letting us stay here, Olivia.”

“Not a problem,” the woman smiles warmly, as she, too, rises from her chair.

 

By nine o’clock, everyone has been through the shower and they have assembled back in the kitchen. Dean, of course, grumbles that Sam doesn’t have to wear a suit today, and Cas wisely chooses not to mention the five minutes Dean spent deliberating over his tie for the day.

“Got your ID? Right side up?” the hunter asks, and Cas rolls his eyes and pulls out the FBI badge from his inner jacket pocket to demonstrate. Dean, it seems, will never let go of Cas’ mistakes on the first case he ever went undercover.

“Yes, Dean. I have done this before successfully,” he sighs in exasperation. Rationally, he knows that Dean’s mother-henning, as Sam calls it, is an intrinsic part of his character and not really a sign that Dean thinks Cas can’t take care of himself. It stems from the elder Winchester’s Prime Directive (and he thinks Dean would appreciate the _Star Trek_ reference if it were not about Dean's own mindset), instilled in him at age four: _protect Sammy._ Now, the Directive has expanded to include himself, Claire, Charlie, Ben...anyone Dean considers family. It may be irksome at times, but it comes from a good place.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Dean smiles, then reaches up to straighten Cas’ tie and smooth down the front of his shirt.

“See? This is how I knew you weren’t FBI when we first met. Totally gave yourselves away,” Olivia teases from beside Sam.

Dean flushes, and Cas knows he is doing the same. “Whadya mean?” the hunter sputters.

“Right before I opened the door, I checked who was there through the peephole. I saw you straighten his tie then, too.”

“Not my fault the guy can’t do it right,” Dean mumbles while Sam laughs.

“Despite having worn the same tie for many years, I still don’t see the point in them,” Cas defends quickly, though, in truth, there is a part of him that looks forward to their little ritual whenever the occasion calls for them to don suits.

“Sure,” Sam acknowledges, and Cas scowls as he suspects the younger Winchester can see right through his defense. Still bantering and teasing, they make their way to the cars, Olivia and Sam in Olivia’s SUV and Dean and Cas in the Impala.

 

The morgue is two towns away, since the surrounding communities aren’t big enough to each support a fully equipped facility of their own. The coroner, a squat and no-nonsense woman in her mid-fifties, barely flinches when they flash their badges and ask to see the bodies.

“You boys better stop this soon or I’m gonna run out of space. We don’t get much crime like this around here,” she says in an almost accusatory tone, as though it is their fault the murders have occurred, and she peers at them from behind thin wire-frame glasses.

Without ceremony, she wheels out one of the bodies and pulls back the white sheet covering a male who appears to be in his mid-thirties. As they expected, the hands and feet have been hacked off of the man, and Harmonia’s symbol is carved deep into his chest.

“And all of the other victims are like this?” Cas asks, and the coroner nods in confirmation.

“Yes, Agent. Feet and hands gone, chests carved up with this sign. Looks like some sort of cult or something.” She purses her lips. “Is there anything else?”

“What about their personal effects?” Dean asks, his most charming smile trying its hardest to win over the coroner; she looks less than impressed and simply crosses the room and picks up three folders.

“Cops have the actual items so you’re going to have to ask them, but these are the records of what each victim had on his person when he died.” She shoves the folders into Dean’s hands and gives him a warning look. “Those records stay here, though. You want them, I need paperwork with a formal request for copies.”

“This should suffice, thank you,” Cas intervenes when Dean takes a step back at the woman’s intensity. “If we require our own, we will contact you.”

Dean gives him a quick look and nod, and Cas bites back the smile at the silent compliment. Cas has long accepted that he will never have the same charisma as either Winchester brother, but they have discovered that his poor social skills and more formal lexicon are often misinterpreted for seriousness and dedication to the job; it’s an angle that works surprisingly well when posing as the FBI.

They quickly flip through the files until Dean lands on the evidence he needs. “This guy had a receipt for a place called The Office, but the other one has a receipt from The Muse Bar & Grille.”

“Mine also has a receipt from The Office,” Cas confirms.

The coroner sniffs. “The Muse isn’t too bad—decent food and drink, but The Office is one of those pretentious bars that thinks its name is clever so people can say they need to go into the office when really they mean they’re getting overpriced martinis.”

Dean nods and grins, and Cas has a feeling that the coroner’s assessment of the bars has endeared her to the hunter, despite her frosty demeanor.

“Well, we will take that under advisement,” Dean smiles as he hands back the folders; Cas returns his as well. “Thank you for your time. We can see ourselves out.”

“Uh huh,” the coroner says; walking them to the door was clearly never on the agenda.

Once back in the Impala, Cas instinctively loosens his tie, no longer caring if it’s askew. “So, it appears there are two establishments the Amazons have made their hunting grounds,” he observes.

“Yep,” Dean agrees as he pulls out of the parking lot. “Wonder what Sam and Olivia found out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the [Shakespearean insult mug](http://www.amazon.com/The-Unemployed-Philosophers-Guild-Shakespeare/dp/B0038TYV7I/ref=sr_1_1/183-1419098-5912533?ie=UTF8&qid=1438539367&sr=8-1&keywords=shakespearean+insults+mug) Cas uses.


	6. Undercover

“Somehow I must have missed the chapter on stalking in _101 Fun and Free Things for Couples to Do_ ,” Olivia comments from the driver’s seat as she reaches over to grab a water bottle from the center console.

“I prefer to call it a stake out. Slightly less creepy,” Sam replies. After tracking Sula through hacked real estate records (thankfully ‘Sula’ is an uncommon enough name that the search was incredibly quick, even without a last name to go on), Olivia and Sam had parked along the curb across the street and two lots down from the young mother’s small ranch house. A green sedan has been parked in the driveway all morning, and Sam hopes that Sula and her daughter don’t plan on staying in all day.

Olivia voices the same concern as she tucks away a dark lock of hair that has escaped her silver-grey knitted hat. “So what happens if they never come out? We don’t exactly have an excuse to go knocking on their door.”

Sam reaches behind him and digs out a clipboard and lanyard from his bag. “I’ll hide and snoop in plain sight. ‘Official Looking Guy With Clipboard’ is a surprisingly useful alias. I can just make up some bullshit story about inspecting water meters or snow removal for the town if anyone asks. No one ever does, though.”

“I thought the whole reason you didn’t want to do an alias with the FBI thing was in case someone recognized you,” Olivia reasons.

Sam shrugs. “True, but the FBI showing up is way more memorable, especially in small towns like this. And who’s to say you’re _not_ dating someone who works in some mundane job around here? It’s a more sustainable lie in the long run.”

“Good point.” Olivia settles back in her seat. “So, is this what you guys normally do on a job?”

“You mean when we’re not fighting for our lives or being screwed over by Heaven and Hell?” Sam quips, although he is slightly dismayed to see Liv’s face tighten at that. Gallows humor is pretty much the only way to mentally deal with the shittiness of this life, but he knows it must sound crazy and incredibly flippant to someone on the outside. He sighs. “Yeah, pretty much. Although, I gotta say, the company is much better this time around. Much cuter.”

“Oh, Mr. _Winchester_ ,” Olivia drawls, pretending to flutter her eyes and fanning her cheek in mock-coquettishness, eliciting a hearty chuckle from Sam.

“Then again, considering I’m usually with my brother or Cas, the standard’s pretty low…”

“Asshole,” Olivia giggles with a gentle push on his shoulder towards the passenger door.

Instead of drawing back her hand, though, she takes his in hers, and Sam rubs small circles along the back of her hand with his thumb. He’s missed this, this easy familiarity with someone. He hasn’t had this since, hell, Jess. Even with Amelia, nothing had been easy—they had both been so broken and scrambling for anything to hold on to that even just touch had been more about physical need and desperation than true comfort and emotional depth. But Olivia? God, he hopes he doesn’t fuck this up or that she doesn’t decide his life is just too much to handle.

“Hey, speaking of your brother and Cas...” Olivia begins after a moment.

“Depending on where you’re going with this, I’m not sure I do want to speak of them…”

Olivia rolls her eyes, then gets serious. “How much...uh, how much did you hear of me talking with Dean last night?”

Sam frowns. “I came in when he was giving you the CliffNotes version of Cas’ secret identity. Why?”

“Oh,” Olivia comments. “So you didn’t hear what I told him before?”

“No…” Sam says, and an uncomfortable weight settles in his stomach at her tone. For the life of him, though, he can’t imagine what could be so bad that she confided in _Dean_ before telling him. “Olivia, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she says with false brightness and confidence. “I, just, uh… Ok, so I gotta tell you something. I, uh, I’ve dated both guys and girls in the past.”

Sam nods, waiting for the other shoe to drop, then recovers quickly when he realizes that _was_ the other shoe and Olivia is waiting for some sort of response. “Oh, ok. Cool. I’m glad you told me, Liv,” he smiles.

“You don’t seem too surprised,” Olivia observes with a raised eyebrow.

He tries his hardest to choke back a laugh, but fails, and hopes that she doesn’t interpret it as him making fun of her fears. He offers what he’s sure Dean would classify as his puppy dog eyes in apology, then clears his throat slightly with a grin. “Yeah, uh, don’t take this the wrong way, but after watching _The Avengers_ with my brother and our friend Charlie, I can recognize a Scarlett Johansson crush a mile away.”

Olivia’s face, still tan, though paler than if it were summer, reddens, but the corners of her mouth lift. “Was I that obvious?”

“Nowhere near as bad as Dean fangirling over Dr. Sexy,” Sam reassures her.

At that, the laughter erupts out of her, and Sam can’t help but smile at the way her eyes crinkle at the corners or how she laughs with her whole body.

“You’re kidding me, right?” she gasps.

“Nope,” Sam confirms. “Feel free to hold that over his head whenever you get the chance.”

“Thanks, Sam,” she says after a moment with a small smile, and he knows it has nothing to do with the brotherly blackmail. He leans over and kisses her.

“Of course,” he says as they break apart. As he turns back to look at Sula’s house, still resolutely uneventful, a thought occurs to him. “Hold on, did you _actually_ try having a conversation about sexual orientation with my brother?”

“Yeah. It didn’t last long. He said he was the worst person to talk to about that stuff.”

Sam snorts. “Well, at least he’s self-aware about that. Seriously, Dean’s probably the most emotionally constipated and repressed person I know, and we come from a long line of bullshitters and deflectors. The hunting community isn’t exactly known for sharing and caring.”

“Well, maybe—” Olivia starts, but she suddenly stops and points to Sula’s house. Despite being winter, the day has warmed to something approaching pleasant, and judging by the stroller making its way down the front walk, the young mother has clearly decided to take advantage of the weather.

Without a word, Sam and Olivia climb out of the car and quickly take each other’s hand as though they have been strolling down the sidewalk this whole time. Sula, unfortunately, turns the stroller in the other direction, but the couple speeds up and shortens the distance.

“Sula?” Olivia calls with just the right hint of uncertainty in her voice, as though she really did just happen to run into an acquaintance.

Sula stops the stroller, turns, and squints in their direction until recognition makes her smile. “Olivia, right?”

“Yeah, hi! Good to see you again,” Olivia enthuses.

With the air of much practice, the mother tilts the stroller onto its back wheels and spins it gently to face them. Wrapped tightly in a thick fleece blanket and under a purple and blue hat are the chubby cheeks of a toddler who looks up at Sam in surprise. It’s one downside of being so tall, Sam laments to himself: kids always think he’s some scary giant. On the plus side, in this case, the baby girl is exactly that—a baby girl—and not an elementary school kid or teenager like she would be if she were, in fact, an Amazon child.

Sam grins and waggles his fingers in greeting at the girl, who gives a mostly-toothless smile in reply, then turns his attention back to Sula just as Olivia introduces him. They shake hands, and just for confirmation, Sam’s eyes flick towards the strip of dark skin between the woman’s cuff and glove. No brand of Harmonia on the wrist.  

“Hey, so I’m sorry I probably freaked you out yesterday at the store talking about the murders and everything,” Sula apologizes. “I felt bad about it all night. Meet a complete stranger, talk about grisly deaths...not exactly the best first impression.”

“Not a problem. Honestly, I’ve been so wrapped up in work that it was a good wake-up call that I need to actually pay attention to the news,” Olivia assures her.

“I only heard what Olivia told me,” Sam white-lies, putting the hand that isn’t holding Olivia’s in his pocket and rocking back on his heels in what he thinks is a casual and unassuming posture. “And there wasn’t much in the papers.”

“Well, it’s a small town, so I guess word gets around quickly,” Sula shrugs and nods in the direction of the house to the right of hers. “Apparently my neighbor’s brother works for the police. _That_ was a wicked fun ‘welcome to the neighborhood’ conversation.”

“I can imagine. How are you liking the rest of the area, though?” Sam asks sympathetically, not wanting to prolong the conversation about the case any longer, lest Sula gets suspicious. It’s pretty clear that Sula’s only information will be hearsay at best, and that Dean and Cas will probably get more concrete leads from the morgue.

Sula looks around and grins. “Considering the hellacious winter New England got last year, I’m not complaining about this.”

“Well, don’t get too excited,” Olivia cautions. “This isn’t typical weather.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” the other woman allows. “Anyway, I was hoping to get a decent walk in before Caylyn turns into a popsicle, so…”

“Oh, of course,” Sam says, flashing an apologetic and understanding smile. “We didn’t mean to keep you.”

“Don’t worry about it. I don’t know many people around here, so it was nice running into you, Olivia. And it was nice meeting you, Sam.”

“Same,” the hunter assures her, Olivia nodding in agreement, and they part ways.

“Well, that was a bust,” Olivia complains once they’re back in the car.

“In terms of the case, yeah,” Sam concedes. “But, she seems like good people.”

Olivia starts the engine, then looks over at Sam thoughtfully. “You don’t have many friends, especially outside the job, do you?” she asks quietly.

Sam averts his eyes and smiles sadly, thinking of all the people they’ve lost over the years. “Not anymore.”

Olivia doesn’t comment, just chews on her bottom lip for a moment and slips the SUV into drive. As soon as they’re away from the curb, she reaches over and entwines her fingers in his, her grip strong and reassuring. It’s not enough to make up for everything bad in his life, but, it helps.

 

 

Evening finds Sam and Cas at The Office, after a rather frustrating day of redundant research on Amazons, fruitless hacks and searches for where they might be headquartered, and a general feeling of uselessness as they all waited for night so they could continue the hunt.

After some discussion, it was decided that Sam and Cas would go to one bar and Dean to the other in an attempt to lure out or trap an Amazon. Dean, of course, had naturally assumed he and Cas would be partnered together, but Olivia had tactfully pointed out that the ruse would probably be more effective if the couple split up. Sam was just thankful she had made the suggestion so that he hadn’t had to, especially since Dean would probably have been far less likely to go along with it or would have voiced more complaints.

The Office is awash in soft blue and pink neon lights which reflect off of the mostly white and chrome furnishings. Music pumps loudly through speakers, but not so loudly that it’s impossible to have a conversation. The place is a far cry from the dives the Winchesters typically patronize, but it’s hardly the most douchey establishment they’ve been to, either. But it’s close.

Sam looks over at Cas, who, after once again scaring off a potential target with his intensity and awkwardness, is tapping quickly on his phone. The younger Winchester sighs as he excuses himself from the rather attractive but non-monstrous redhead with whom he’d been speaking, and leans against the bar on his forearms next to the fallen angel.

“Cas, man, you can’t be on the phone if you want this plan to work,” Sam chides gently. Truth be told, he’s not a huge fan of this tactic either, and he’d much rather be back at Olivia’s, but it’s part of the job and it was the best plan they had. At least Olivia understood.

Cas frowns and continues typing. “Dean says to quit nagging,” he smirks, then looks up at Sam half-apologetically.

“Yeah, well, he’s a jerk. And you can tell him I said that,” Sam rolls his eyes. “And yeah, I know he’ll just call me a bitch.”

The shorter man snorts in what Sam thinks is agreement, and after another moment or two of quick tapping, Cas repockets the phone and joins Sam in surveying the bar. Maybe they can just spot the next poor sap to be taken in by the Amazons without having to be the bait.

“So no luck with...Julie, was it?” Sam asks.

“No,” Cas admits. “She was pleasant but seemed put off by me, but I did confirm that she is, in fact, human.” He sighs. “I’m...not good at flirtations, except with Dean.”

Sam laughs, but not unkindly. A small smile creeps over the other man’s face, the smile that means he’s had an amusing thought or memory. Sam raises an eyebrow in question, inviting Cas to share.

“This reminds me of when Dean brought me to a den of iniquity to ‘get me laid’, the night before we summoned Raphael during the Apocalypse.”

“He brought you to a _brothel?_ ” the younger brother sputters with a laugh. If this Cas, fallen and infinitely more human than in the past, is awkward in social situations like tonight, Sam can only imagine how badly the Castiel of the Apocalypse must have crashed and burned at a freaking brothel.

“Yes.” Cas’ grin widens. “Dean informed me, when he learned I had never done any angelic ‘cloud seeding’, as he called it, that he was sure of two things: first, that Bert and Ernie are gay—at the time I didn’t know they were puppet characters on a children’s show—and second, that he would not let me die a virgin.”

Sam nearly chokes on his beer at this reveal. “Freudian slip much?” he coughs out mirthfully. Oh, there is no way he’s _ever_ going to let his brother live this down.

Cas considers this with his head cocked to the side, then nods and shrugs. “In any case, the night did not go well, as you might imagine. I made the mistake of trying to console the woman about her issues with her father, at which point she became angry and threw me out. Dean, at least, was amused.” He falls silent, momentarily lost in a private memory, and Sam doesn’t ask, instead choosing to revel in the opportunities to tease Dean that his friend has provided.

Both leaning back on the bar, resting on their elbows, they assess the clientele again. Sam’s eye falls on a woman with long and almost black hair, sitting alone at a table but looking around the bar in an almost predatory and calculating manner.

“Once more unto the breach,” Sam mutters to Cas, toasting his glass in her direction. Cas squints, then nods.

“I’ll cover you,” his friend assures him.

Sam sidles over to the table, introduces himself warmly as he sits, and offers to buy her another drink. Pinkish-red lips curl back in an appraising and approving smile of her own, and she holds out a hand with well-manicured nails to introduce herself as Marissa.

Except for during his soulless period, which Sam tries hard not to remember, his primary tactic for flirting has been genuine interest and what he's been told is a somewhat dorky, but cute, smile. But, he knows the Amazons are more interested in the slightly cockier business types, and so he tries to bring just a hint of that kind of bravado to the small talk between him and Marissa.

As uncomfortable as it makes Sam, especially considering the way Olivia keeps flashing in his mind’s eye every time Marissa gives him a coy look or flirtatious grin, it doesn’t take long for him to convince her that he’s a successful lawyer who’s not looking for any commitments.

It also doesn’t take long for Sam to catch the faint white scar lines inside her right wrist.

Sam looks down at his empty glass, then nods at her own. “So, Marissa, either we can get another drink here, or…” he lets the silence speak for itself, and offers a half-smile just shy of a leer.

“My place isn’t far,” Marissa suggests through her lashes. “And I’m sure I can find us something to drink there.”

Without further discussion, they get up and make their way to the door, Sam giving Cas the barest hints of a nod as they pass. They walk for a minute, their breath clouding white in front of them, until they pass an empty storefront beside a narrow alley. _CARMEN’S — COMING SOON!_ declares a sign in the window beside two unclothed female mannequins. Quickly and with the speed of hard years of practice, Sam draws his gun from the back of his waistband, and pushes her into the alley.

“Walk,” he growls, and even in the dimness, he sees the skin around Marissa’s eyes flash red. She hisses and tenses to retaliate when her eyes flick behind him as the hammer of another gun clicks.

“I would not attack if I were you,” Cas warns quietly, but the authority in his voice is clear.

They march her to the back of building where they find a steel door; Sam quickly jimmies the cheap lock and reveals a room covered in painter’s tarps, most likely the intended back office for the store. Quickly, they handcuff Marissa to a chair, neither of them daring to lower their weapons.

“Where’s the rest of your tribe?” Sam asks once Cas has double checked the restraints.

Marissa ignores the question and instead just snarls at them. She peers at Cas, the red skin around her eyes still livid and ugly. “You’re not human. At least, not entirely.”

As the two men exchange looks, Sam wonders what it is about Cas that occasionally tips off creatures and hunters, like Krissy, that he isn't human (or at least, wasn't originally), but he knows he'll get no answer to that question tonight. Sam instead simply replies, “He’s an angel.”

The Amazon cackles derisively. “An angel? Aren’t you supposed to be powerful and righteous? Not slumming with the mortals?”

Now it’s Sam and Cas’ turn to ignore a question. Sam leans closer to Marissa, the gun just inches from her knee-cap. “Where’s the rest of your tribe?” he grits out.

“Why should I tell you? You’ll just kill me,” she counters.

“I will not kill you if you help us,” Cas offers. “As you pointed out, I’m an angel and angels are righteous.”

Internally, Sam is momentarily taken aback by the lie, especially as it comes from Cas, but he luckily doesn’t let his disbelief show on his face.

“I still don’t believe you’re an angel. You’re weak,” she spits.

“We all lost power in The Fall,” Cas says flatly, the explanation coming smooth and confident.

The Amazon considers him shrewdly, her eyes then flicking back and forth between them. Her lips curl back in a sneer, and Sam knows she hasn’t accepted the offer. He cocks the gun and fires into her thigh; she screeches in shock and pain.     

“Cas said he will let you live,” Sam explains. “But you still need to talk.”

She sucks air through her teeth, her glare malevolent. “Old farmhouse on the outskirts of the north side of town. The barracks...for the farm hands…” she grinds out.

“Thank you,” Cas says coldly as he raises his gun.

Marissa’s eyes widen, then she lashes out, “You said you’d let me go!”

A corner of Cas’ mouth lifts sardonically. “A good friend once told me that when humans want something very badly, they lie.” He pauses, fixing his gaze on her. “And I’m not an angel anymore.”

There are times, such as back in the bar tonight or the majority of time that Cas is around Dean, that Sam forgets just what his friend used to be, and still is in many ways. But in this moment, as the man beside him stares emotionlessly down the length of his arm and over the gun that seems more like a natural extension of his body than a human weapon, Sam knows that this is not just his friend or his brother’s partner. Despite his speech to the contrary, this is Castiel, Angel of the Lord, a creature billions of years old, who feels no remorse over smiting the monsters and evil of this world.

The shot echoes in the mostly bare room, and Marissa’s head snaps back and her body careens with the chair to crash to the floor, the bullet hole between her eyes jagged and bloody.

In his heart of hearts, Sam would like to think that he recoiled at the gore and bloodshed, but at this point in his life, he feels as numb to it as Cas. Neither of them flinch.

_One monster down..._

Silently, they carry the body to the back of Sam’s truck where they cover it with tarps and weigh it down with miscellaneous junk to fool suspicious eyes; there’s nowhere in the general vicinity to dispose of her, so they will have to bring the body elsewhere.

Sam climbs into the cab behind the wheel; Cas is already in the passenger seat, his hand up to his ear. The former angel’s eyes grow wide as he listens to a message, then he holds out his phone when Sam sends him a questioning look. The voicemail replays, and his brother’s voice comes over the cheap speaker, rough and broken.

“Cas? Sammy? I killed her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit to Jeff Lindsay (author of the Dexter books) for the Official Looking Guy with Clipboard alias idea, which I am unabashedly stealing; although I guess that kind of means I'm basically saying Sam is like a serial killer....which, he kinda is....oh well. I still love Sam. :)


	7. Sex and Violence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: there's no actual sex in this chapter, despite the title (sorry -- I'd be laughably terrible if I tried to write smut if I had any inclination to do so). Nor are there any sirens, but I felt the title from 4x14 seemed appropriate, so I'm stealing it.
> 
> Trigger warning: allusion to a character having a miscarriage.
> 
> Also, this chapter references ["What's in a Name?"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4224798), an earlier part of the series that was actually written much later, so if you haven't read that, some of Dean's reflections on his relationship with Cas might not make sense. (It's pretty short -- only 3,600 words; not much longer than this chapter.)

As soon as Dean walks through the doors of The Muse Bar & Grille, he’s thankful he let Sammy and Cas take The Office. The Muse is one of those bars that has something for everyone: dark wood floors and bar top, an impressive wall of taps complemented with deep shelves of a good range of alcohol types and qualities, and what looks like a fairly extensive menu of everything from pub grub to small plates that’d make a foodie content. The clientele is a mix of older townies and young professionals, but somehow the combination works.

Dean finds a place at the end of the bar, positioned so that he can survey the whole place, but still be available as bait if an Amazon chick makes her way in here. He orders a whiskey and settles into a chair as he unbuttons his suit coat. Four years ago, his Fed suit had been enough to attract Lydia and make her think he really was the investment banker he claimed to be, but this time he’s wearing a dark vest as well. Cas picked it out for him the last time they had bought suits, and while Dean had scoffed and Sam had teased him, to be honest, Dean actually really likes it. The vest reminds him of his awesome suit from 1944, though unfortunately in 2016, he probably can’t rock the shoulder holster without getting arrested or the fedora without looking like a stupid hipster.

It doesn’t take long for a tall, leggy, blonde to approach him. She has piercing grey eyes and full lips and Dean takes a second to realize it has been _forever_ since he’s actually flirted with a woman—not that he forgets how. And even though it’s all an act and Dean knows that Cas is on board and is probably awkwardly flirting himself at the other bar, it still feels dishonest.

Unfortunately, the woman—Deirdre—has about half a million of those thin silver charm bracelets that all the women seem to wear these days (hell, he’s pretty sure even Claire has a couple), and so Dean can’t tell if she has Harmonia’s brand on her wrist. His eyes flick around the bar to see if there are any other potential Amazons, but so far Deirdre is the only one who fits the bill. He puts on his most charming smile and figures he’ll just have to flirt his way to determining if she’s his target or not. Deidre’s cocktail is nearly empty, so Dean signals to the bartender for another as Deirdre settles into the chair next to Dean and begins the usual song and dance, the mating ritual of the _singlelous barflytia_. He may be out of practice, but he’s pretty sure he remembers all the steps.

“So what do you do, Dean?” Deirdre asks as she sips from her very pink cocktail.

“Director of Sales and Marketing,” he replies smoothly, somehow channeling the persona of the corporate asshole Zachariah had turned him into. Despite now being in a long-term relationship with a guy, Dean thinks that Dean Smith was the gayest he’s ever been, stereotypically speaking. The dude drove a Prius and watched _Project Runway._ _Project. Freaking. Runway._ Dean shakes his head to clear away the memory and smiles back at Deirdre.

Her eyes light up at his response, and Dean thinks she might just be the Amazon he’s looking for. He’s about to subtly test the waters and see if she’s just interested in a one-night stand when Deirdre speaks up and confirms that she is, in fact, _not_ some monster chick looking for the next Gordon Gecko to be her monster-baby daddy.

“Really? I’m in sales and marketing, too! People think I’m weird for liking it because of the ridiculous hours, but hey, you’re supposed to love what you do, right?” Yep, definitely not an Amazon; Deirdre is legitimately interested in what he supposedly does for a living and feels a “personal connection.” _Dammit._ Dean kind of feels like a dick for thinking she was a monster. Kinda.

“Yeah, exactly,” Dean nods. _Figures I had to get picked up by the one person here who actually knows something about my fake job._ He tries for a winning smile and a deflection, hoping he can shake her off soon without being a total ass before this goes too far (besides, getting a drink thrown at him would certainly make it difficult to continue this charade with anyone else at the bar). “Those CEOs and clients, they sure keep us busy, don’t they?”

Deirdre laughs richly. “No kidding. The fact that I haven’t checked my email in the last twenty minutes is probably a personal record. I’ve got a client over in Japan right now, so…”

Dean thinks he nods and laughs in all the right places as Deirdre launches into a story about her job, but by the end of it, he’s pretty sure she could have told him that aliens have landed and are currently running the White House and he would’ve had the same reaction to the story considering how much attention he _hasn’t_ been paying. Instead, he’s discreetly scoping out the rest of the bar, hoping to find a likely Amazon.

“So, Dean, maybe this is a bit forward, but would you...want to go back to my place?” Deirdre asks, biting her lower lip seductively and resting her fingers lightly on his arm. A year ago, Dean would have been all over this, boring corporate stories or not. Deirdre is fucking _hot_. Instead, the once suave Dean Winchester feels his brain freezing and his tongue becoming thick and clumsy.

“Sorry, I’m uh...married,” he blurts, and his brain stops putting on the brakes and instead crashes and smashes into a million pieces. _What. The. Fuck. Did I just…?_ Sure, technically in a (doctored documents) legal sense, he and Cas are married—it’s why Cas’ “real” IDs list him as “Cas Winchester”, but they _never_ actually refer to themselves as such. In fact, when Dean presented Cas with the marriage license and IDs in what has to be the _worst_ (non) proposal ever, he pretty much told Cas flat out that even though he loves the guy, he thinks the idea of marriage and calling each other husbands is just fucking _weird._ Not for the first time, Dean’s thankful Cas understands him and trusts what they have together, and that the ex-angel doesn’t put as much stock into human rituals as most people.

But now he's just said he’s _married?_ To a complete stranger?

Dean tries to tell himself he only said it to get rid of her.

It doesn’t really work.

Deirdre frowns and looks down at Dean’s left hand. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Just, no ring, so I thought…”

“No, it’s ok, it’s my fault. I should’ve...said something...earlier,” Dean stammers, kicking himself for completely flubbing and losing his cool, while the feather pendant Cas gave him for Christmas suddenly feels much heavier under his shirt.

Deirdre tries to put on a cheerful smile, but it doesn’t quite meet her eyes. “Well, whoever she is, I’m sure she’s very lucky.” Deirdre pats his arm as she gets up and gives him a significant look. “But, I doubt she’d want to find out you bought some other woman a drink.”

A thousand thoughts run through his head and he comes close to snarkily replying that his _partner_ , not wife, knows and is probably off doing the same—because, fuck it, this conversation is crashing and sinking like the goddamn Titanic as it is (thanks, Balthazar)—but instead he just nods guiltily and lets Deirdre move off to find someone else to charm. He knocks back the rest of his whiskey and can’t flag down the bartender fast enough to order a double. This night is  _not_ going how he planned.

The bartender pours out a generous portion of whiskey and Dean feels his phone buzz in his pocket; he finds a text from Cas.

 

**_10:04 pm_ **

I no longer like this plan.

 

**_10:04 pm_ **

U and me both buddy. Any luck?

 

**_10:05 pm_ **

Not yet. According to Sam, I’ve been too forward with my attempts at flirting. He has fared better, but no Amazons yet.

 

**_10:06 pm_ **

He also informs me I shouldn’t be on my phone if I wish to attract women. Of course, I don’t really want to in the first place.

 

**_10:06 pm_ **

Tell samantha to quit nagging. And u can always just scope the place out and see if the amazons try and pick up someone else

 

**_10:07 pm_ **

Sam tells me to tell you that you are a jerk.

 

**_10:07 pm_ **

Bitch

 

**_10:07 pm_ **

(that was to sam)

 

**_10:08 pm_ **

I assumed as much. In any case, I should probably take both of your advice and either try flirting again or observing the other patrons.

 

**_10:09 pm_ **

I’ll talk to you later. Good luck and be safe. 

 

**_10:09 pm_ **

U know me ;)

 

**_10:10 pm_ **

That’s exactly my point.

 

**_10:11 pm_ **

Thx for vote of confidence. Miss u

 

**_10:11 pm_ **

Miss you, too. :)

 

Before putting away his phone, Dean thumbs his way back through the message thread, rereading the conversation and taking some comfort in their shared discomfort at having to play these parts. Unfortunately, this also has the unwelcome side effect of throwing his excuse to Deirdre into focus, forcing him quietly admit to himself just how fucking gone he is with Cas. He knows it, Cas knows it, hell, Sam and Claire and Charlie always crack jokes about how he’s whipped, but…he rarely _admits_ it in any seriousness, and certainly not to people he doesn’t know.

He twists in his seat to call over the bartender again when he catches sight of a familiar blonde head at one of the tables, and all thoughts he has about Cas are shocked out of his head.

Lydia.

Fucking Lydia.

The guy she’s chatting up—some clean-cut early thirties who probably has a great golf swing and likes to talk about his portfolio—gets up from the table, clearly with the intent of getting them another round. Dean pockets his phone, lays a few bills on the bar, and makes his way over to the guy.

The young man catches sight of Dean out of the corner of his eye, and while his initial reaction is just to turn back and hold up a hand for the bartender, something in the hunter’s expression makes him do a double take. Without really thinking about it, Dean pulls out his FBI badge and the other man’s eyes fill with fear and surprise.

“Excuse me, sir. I hate to interrupt, but are you with that woman over there?” Dean nods in Lydia’s direction.

“Uh, no, I mean, yeah...I just met her, I didn’t come here with her, if that’s what you mean...uh, why? What’s the problem?” the other man stutters.

Dean nods as though he’s trying to decide whether to believe the man’s story before adopting a more companionable expression. “Look, I’m sure you don’t want any trouble, and you seem like a decent guy, which is why I wanted to let you know that that woman—what name did she give you?”

“Alexa…?”

Dean smirks. “Alexa. Well, that’s a new one for her. ‘Alexa’ here is not who she says she is. I’ve been tracking her as part of an investigation. I’m hoping to take her in without causing too much of a scene, or getting civilians caught up in her mess.” He adds a brotherly clap on the shoulder and a pointed look for effect.

“Oh my God. I was just getting her a drink, I didn’t know…” the other man almost panics, the fear of arrest evident in his eyes.

“Not a problem, sir. Just stay here.”  

Quickly, but not alarmingly so, Dean approaches Lydia from behind, using the crowded room as his cover for drawing Ruby’s knife surreptitiously. Sensing someone’s approach, Lydia spins in her seat, only to find the blade pressed at her side. Her eyes widen in recognition.

“You…” she breathes.

“That’s right, me. Dean, not Don or Dan or whatever you thought my name was,” he smiles, but his eyes are cold and the grin is bitter and terrible.

Lydia’s eyes flick around the bar, clearly calculating her odds in such a public space. Dean lets her, then motions for her to get up, the knife still hidden between them. Without a word, she complies, and Dean sees her intended target with his friends, whispering and staring. Dean gives them a little salute, then grips Lydia’s bicep as he marches her out the door; she doesn’t spare them a second look.

Behind the building is a thick grove of trees, away from prying eyes, and he pushes her in that direction. As soon as they’re away from the parking lot and the harsh streetlights, Dean pulls out his gun from under the back of his coat. Lydia uses the momentary break in his defenses to spin and lunge at him, nearly knocking the weapon from Dean’s hand. Fortunately for the hunter, he had anticipated the attack, though not the speed with which she moved, and so he is only partially unbalanced before landing a hit of his own, forcing her onto the ground and aiming his gun right at her head.

She holds up her hands in defeat, but the red skin around her eyes betrays her. Dean looks down at her, staring unflinching until the red fades and her breathing steadies. Slowly she sits up. When he doesn’t react to the motion, she continues, easing her way to her feet.

“Never thought you’d see me again, did you?” Dean snarls. “Then again, thought the same about you.”

“Believe me, if the tribe had let me, you would be dead for what you did to Emma,” Lydia says, her voice laden with an ugly mix of hate and sorrow.

His jaw tightens. Dean doesn’t fight the accusation. He might not have pulled the trigger in Seattle or wielded the blade in Purgatory, but he’s just as guilty for both of the girl’s deaths. He pushes that aside, though, lashing out with the only defense he has against Lydia.

“Don’t play the proud mama card with me, bitch. I saw you send her off to drink the girl power kool-aid,” he spits.

Lydia glares. “You couldn’t understand. And she was my first. My only.”

Dean, remembering the lore that Amazons only go on their sex and murder sprees every two years, can’t help but take the jab. “So, what, you get shut down two years ago? No lucky guy? Tough break.”

Lydia stiffens. He doesn’t want to feel bad for her, he _can’t_ —she’s a monster, a creature that lied to him and sent their monster spawn to kill him, that must have killed her own father, whoever that poor bastard was. But the pain on her face at his taunt is entirely too real, too human, and...he sees… _No._ He swallows.

“What happened?” he finds himself asking.

“The tribe wanted to punish me for bringing hunters down on them, so they locked me up while the others went out. It nearly killed me, not being able to...and by the time they realized and let me out, let me try...my body was…I lost her...” Crimson flesh flashes around hard eyes.

The human in him feels his heart clench, while the hunter in him screams warning. But, the hunter brain takes over after a second, latching onto part of Lydia’s sob story, pushing away the emotion. “What do you mean locking you up nearly killed you?”

Lydia’s lips curl into a sneer, a mask of feral anger. She holds up her wrist, where even in the faint light, the white brand stands out against her pale skin. “Harmonia. They call it a blessing, but it’s a curse. It doesn’t matter what _we_ want. If we don’t reproduce, it’s like…” Lydia looks away, then turns back and fixes her fiery eyes on Dean. “I haven’t felt that way, that desperate, since I went to kill my father.”

A cold weight settles in his stomach, and that night Emma came to him threatens to overtake him.

_“They told me I had to endure pain so I could be strong like them. But I don’t want to be like them,” she had said._

_“You get this is my last chance to have anything normal ever, right?” she had said._

_And as soon as he had turned around, she had pulled out a knife._

But what if the words had been true?

What if she really hadn’t _wanted_ to kill him?

What if she’d _had_ to?

What if…

Dean is jerked back to reality by the force of Lydia’s attack, the woman having taken advantage of Dean’s reverie. At once, his instincts take over, that cold calculation of the fight suppressing all else. The gun has been knocked into the snow, its silver gleaming in the moonlight and dim glow from the distant parking lot. He pushes her off of him, barely, her slight frame belying her abnormal strength.

They both scrabble for the weapon, though Dean knows they could probably both kill the other with their bare hands if hard-pressed. Lydia struggles on the uneven ground in her heels, and Dean presses the advantage, knocking her down at the ankles before diving for the gun. In one fluid motion, he spins and fires, the bullet striking Lydia in the heart. The second it takes for her to fall to the ground seems much longer, and Dean watches the animalistic rage etched in her features fade to shock.

Numbly, he rises from the ground, then looks down at her, her blonde hair splayed like a sunburst around her head, the snow stained red beneath her.

But he doesn’t see that.

All he can see is how similar mother and daughter look in death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think the end of this chapter also confirms why it's incredibly stupid for Hollywood to make their kick-ass heroines literally kick ass in heels. Like seriously, who gets up in the morning and says, "Imma go fight crime and evil, but first let me do my hair and make up, and put on these four-inch ankle rollers that will make it incredibly hard to run or do ANYTHING physical"? It's just dumb. (Lydia gets a pass because she was dressed for a night out, and she probably wasn't anticipating fighting off a hunter.)
> 
> *end rant*
> 
> Oh and Dean's crack about his Dean Smith persona being "gay" is *supposed* to play on stereotypes, which I realize may be offensive (and do not reflect my views at all). But this is Dean Winchester we're talking about, and being PC has never been one of his virtues. Apologies if that offended you.


	8. Powder Keg

The silence in the Impala is deadly.

Sam and Cas had arrived at the woods behind the Muse to find Dean still standing over the body of Lydia as though frozen. Cas had expected Dean to say something, to yell, to fight, to do _something._ Instead, they had just silently gathered the body and placed it with Marissa’s in the back of Sam’s truck before driving out to an abandoned quarry east of town to burn and bury the bodies.

About a half mile from Olivia’s, where they—Cas and Sam; Dean had voiced no opinion—had decided to return for the night, reasoning that the likelihood of the tribe all being at the farmhouse right now was slim to none if the women of child-bearing age were on the prowl, Sam pulls his truck over to the side of the road.

Surprised, Dean passes the truck, and in the faint dashboard lights, Cas sees a flicker of indifference on his partner’s face, as though Dean is silently saying _fuck you, Sam, I’m not pulling over_. But, the flicker is just that, and he resignedly pulls over the Impala about twenty feet later. In the side mirror and in the glow of the truck’s headlights, Cas can see Sam’s tall silhouette as he gets out of the vehicle and approaches the Chevy.

“Dean…” he tries, but Dean ignores him, clenches his jaw and gets out of the car like he’s been raring for this fight all his life.

Reluctantly, Cas follows. He _knows_ that this is ultimately between the brothers, but he’ll be damned if he’ll sit by and watch them tear each other apart—physically, verbally, emotionally, or maybe that special Winchester combination of the three—without trying to mediate or stop it or do something, anything. They’re his family, and after seeing his celestial family fragmented and violent and warring, he can’t bear for it to happen to his human one.

“I know you’re pissed, Dean, and probably at me, so if you’ve got something to say, you’re saying it here before we get back to Olivia’s,” Sam is explaining as Cas nears the brothers and takes his place to the side, but firmly in the middle between them. Dean may be his partner, but Sam is his best friend; he will not choose one Winchester over the other.

“I got nothing to say to you, Sammy,” Dean finally speaks, his voice as cold and hard as the packed dirt and snow beneath their feet.

“Bullshit, Dean,” Sam counters. “I _know_ you’re upset about killing Lydia—”

“It wasn’t about Lydia,” Dean bites back.

Sam’s shoulders tense and his lips purse. “Fine, then it’s about Emma. This case has been fucking you up from the start, Dean, and I don’t know how many times I can apologize for Seattle.”

“You never _did_ apologize,” Dean counters. “In fact, I’m pretty sure you actively _defended_ what you did.”

“Can you fucking blame me, Dean?! You’re the one who always taught me to kill the monster! And after Amy, or Madison, or, hell, any of the others we might’ve been able to save, do you think that _doesn’t_ haunt me? But you’re my _brother_ , Dean, and she was going to _kill_ you.”

Dean doesn’t reply, and looks like he’s about to storm off or punch Sam, or perhaps both. Cas makes his only move out of neutrality by taking a step towards Dean, hand out in comfort. Dean almost shakes Cas’ hand off his shoulder, but after a second he relents—barely.

“Sam—” Cas begins when he sees the younger Winchester start to speak again, but Sam takes Dean’s silence as an opening to continue.

“And it’s not like this was after Purgatory when you’d become best friends with a _vampire_ —”

Whatever Sam was about to say about Benny gets cut off by Dean landing a solid right hook on his jaw, knocking the taller man onto the ground. Cas pulls Dean back before he can advance on his younger brother, who is dazedly looking at the blood his fingers found on his split lip.

“Dean!” Cas practically shouts in the hunter’s ear and Cas can feel his fingers cramp as they dig into Dean’s biceps. Moving between the two brothers, Cas straightens himself up to his full height, staring resolutely into Dean’s eyes, forcing his partner to return his gaze. Dean is breathing heavily, his eyes are rimmed in red, his nostrils are flaring, but he finally blinks as though a fog is lifted as he looks at Cas. They share one of their silent conversations, and Dean shakes himself out of Cas’ grasp and stalks off to cool down.

“What the fuck,” Sam says, as much to himself as to Cas. The former angel holds out a hand to help the younger Winchester up, and Sam takes it gratefully. Dean has walked past the Impala, pacing an angry row. Cas sighs and turns back to Sam.

“There’s something you should know. About Benny. And Emma.” Sam's eyebrows knit in question, and Cas takes the invitation to continue. “When we were in Purgatory, but before Dean and I were reunited, he and Benny were attacked by a tribe of Amazons. Benny killed Emma before Dean could stop it. Dean says they recognized each other in the final seconds and were both about to stop, but it all happened too quickly; Benny didn’t know, and Dean never told him—not even after—but Dean prayed to me about it.”

“Shit…” Sam exhales, his hand unconsciously and gingerly feeling the rapidly forming bruise on his jaw. “I wouldn’t have said…”

“I know, Sam,” Cas reassures the other man as best he can, although he knows reassurance and comfort is not really his to give in this situation; only the brothers can give each other absolution.

Sam nods, then strides in Dean’s direction. Cas almost has to jog to keep pace with the taller man, although he hangs back at the last minute so that the brothers can speak.

“What?” Dean snarls, though Cas can tell much of the rage has worn off and the hunter is sliding into emotional exhaustion.

“I’m sorry, Dean. About everything,” Sam offers quietly. “Cas...told me. About Purgatory.”

Cas involuntarily winces at the look of betrayal Dean flashes at him, but he recovers quickly and returns Dean’s gaze, refusing to be cowed. “He had to know,” Cas explains in a tone that brooks no argument.

After a quick nod to Cas, Dean then turns a sneer to Sam. “Yeah, and did he tell you that if we’d stayed in Gabriel’s fucked up world and we’d had a third kid, it would’ve been Emma? Because she wasn’t some monster. She was just a cursed kid.”

Cas’s eyes widen. He hadn’t expected Dean to bring this up, wasn’t even sure if Dean really remembered that conversation in their fake living room, watching Ben and Claire play with their toys. Sam’s expression mirrors his own, before he fights back.

“I’m sorry," he says genuinely and earnestly. "But, Dean, you can’t keep holding it against me when I don’t know things _because you won’t tell me them._ ”

For a moment, Dean looks like he’s ready to counter with something completely devastating, and Cas fears it will be the revelation that Sam _chose_ not to remember Gabriel’s world. He’s not sure how Gabriel’s mind wipe worked, or how effective it is, but he remembers the trauma of when Sam’s wall broke and unleashed memories of Hell or when Ben recovered his memories, and so Cas has no desire to trigger the younger Winchester. This wasn’t an involuntary erasure, this was something Sam wanted. He has to stop Dean from opening the proverbial Pandora’s box of Sam’s memories.

“Wait!” Cas interjects, because even through all of this, a part of his mind has been churning over the larger problems of this case, and has latched onto something Dean said. “What do you mean she was cursed?”

Both brothers freeze, so entirely absorbed in their fight that they had almost forgotten Cas’ presence. Dean actually shakes his head and blinks in surprise at the topic change, while Sam peers at Cas as though trying to catch up to the ex-angel’s train of thought.

“What if we’ve been approaching this case the wrong way?” he explains without explaining, and not for the first time, Cas laments at the limits of human language and communication. Both brothers look at him puzzled, though Dean’s face clears in faint understanding first.

“We can break the curse,” the hunter nods.

Sam looks shocked at the fact that his brother has figured out the problem before him. Inwardly, Cas grimaces because it’s not one of the younger Winchester’s more endearing traits—that while Sam knows Dean is intelligent, he naturally assumes _he_ will be the one to make the more academic connections first, that he is the “smarter” brother. Granted, it’s a dynamic that is hardly helped by the older brother’s penchant for encouraging that assumption through self-deprecation, much to Cas’ chagrin and despite his attempts to dissuade it. The Winchesters can be extremely exasperating in this regard, but unraveling that Gordian Knot of issues will take far longer than the current situation will allow.

“What made you say that it was a curse, Dean?” Cas prompts instead, hoping Dean knows something they don’t. His hope does not go unrequited.

“It was something Lydia said,” Dean replies, switching off the emotions and reverting to hunter-mode so quickly that Cas feels almost guilty for encouraging Dean to fall back on his usual suppression that can’t be good for his psyche—not that any of them are paragons of mental or emotional health, himself included. “She showed me the brand and said that Harmonia’s ‘blessing’ was actually a curse. That if they don’t kill their fathers,” Dean nearly chokes over this, but manages to get it out and continues on, “or pop out kids every two years, it’ll practically kill them. It doesn’t matter what they want. They _have_ to do it.”

His eyes flick to Sam, whose own widen in understanding and apology. Dean blinks, slowly, letting his eyes stay closed for just a second, before opening them again. Both brothers breathe deeply, almost in unison, before returning to the problem at hand; Cas wishes they could see themselves for a moment, see how _similar_ they can be, even when they seem so opposed to each other. But now is not the time.

“So...we summon and kill Harmonia?” Sam says slowly, still working the question and solution over in his mind.

“Great. Kill a goddess,” Dean grumbles. “Just another fun day at the office.”

Cas ignores Dean’s snark, as does Sam, both of them recognizing it as Dean’s way of coping with the situation, though they do exchange weary looks.

“That is probably the only way to break the curse,” Cas acknowledges. “As for killing a goddess, well, it would not be the first time you’ve done so.”

The brothers look to each other, the anger of the fight still there, but pushed to the background. Instead, they both nod, mentally calculating their next steps.

“Time to research,” Dean sighs.

And without another word, they return to the warmth of the vehicles.

 

Back at Olivia’s, the teacher takes one look at the three of them, noting their dirty and bloody clothing, Sam’s swollen lip, and the almost palpable tension between the brothers, and her eyes widen in confusion and concern. Neither brother explains, and so she looks to Cas in question.

Dean barely grunts a greeting before going upstairs to the spare bedroom, while Sam makes an effort at politeness before begging off to get ice from the freezer, leaving Cas and Olivia in the hall.

“What happened?” she whispers hurriedly.

Cas pinches the bridge of his nose and immediately feels both sorry for the woman for having to deal with this and entirely grateful that there might be someone else who understands (or will quickly) what it means to be partnered with a Winchester. He sighs.

“They’ll be all right. This case has brought up some...unresolved issues from the last time Sam and Dean encountered Amazons. That case...did not end well,” he finishes lamely, as Sam returns from the kitchen, nursing his lip with towel-wrapped ice.

“It’s ok, Cas,” he says, reaching out for Olivia and looking almost surprised when she takes his hand in one of hers while placing the other gently on his uninjured cheek. He closes his eyes for a second and leans into the touch. “I’ll tell her. Go check on Dean.”

Cas nods, immensely relieved. Telling Sam about Emma’s second death had been uncomfortable enough, had felt like an invasion of Dean’s privacy; he loathes the idea of repeating the experience again in far greater detail with Olivia.

In the spare room, Cas finds Dean sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows to knees, phone spinning between his fingers.

“Claire or Ben?” Cas asks softly.

“Hadn’t decided,” Dean answers, entirely unsurprised at Cas’ deduction. “But I figured it was late and I can’t put this shit on them.”

Cas nods, again relieved, and slightly impressed with Dean’s restraint. He approaches the bed, and Dean shifts so that he can sit next to him. The mattress compresses to almost nothing with their combined weights and causes them to lean into each other, their shoulders just shy of contact. Dean sighs, rubs a hand on one thigh, and tosses the phone gently onto the nightstand. He settles back, this time letting their arms and legs press into each other.

“You know,” Cas begins after a moment of quiet, “you can’t blame Sam for this. Or Benny, for that matter.”

“I know,” Dean allows softly. “I don’t.”

Another beat of silence.

“You can’t blame yourself, either.”

Dean scoffs. “Fucking watch me,” he mutters.

Cas turns sharply to his partner. “No, I won’t. I refuse.”

The hunter snaps his head up at the steel in Cas’ tone, and the ex-angel looks back at him coolly. Dean’s eyes flick over Cas’ face, searching his expression for any lie or crack in the armor, and in finding none, drop to the floor to study the pattern in the blue and white rug.

“I won’t pretend to understand exactly how you feel, nor will I offer you hollow reassurances that everything will be ok,” Cas says, though more gently than before. “But what I do understand is that Sam and Benny made the best decisions they could at the time and that there was nothing you could do to stop them or save Emma. You can’t carry this burden. The fault is not yours. It’s not anyone’s, except, perhaps, Harmonia’s.”

“I could have stopped Sam, I didn’t even _say_ anything…” Dean protests, but Cas cuts him off.

“And if I had come to you for help while you were at Lisa’s, or if Sam had been honest about what he was doing with Ruby… There are a million what ifs, Dean. We can’t live in the past.”

“But…”

“Dean,” he says firmly. Dean’s jaw snaps shut with a clack of teeth, and he hunches to stare at his hands, clasped loosely between his knees. Cas lets his shoulders fall, then gives a wry half-smile. “For some reason, it seems that despite the fact that _you_ are the one who first told me to let things go, I am always the one reminding you of that advice.”

Cas is relieved to see the corners of Dean’s mouth lift up, almost imperceptibly, and wonders if he, too, is recalling the same memory.

“I ain’t exactly a role model,” Dean says, echoing that conversation in the restaurant Cas had taken Claire.

“That's not true,” Cas replies in kind.

Dean huffs a bitter laugh, then straightens, reaching over to take Cas’ hand in his own and bracing himself with the other palm on his knee. He takes a deep breath, then turns to Cas, the moment over.

“Think this plan with Harmonia will work?” he asks, clearly desperate for a change of topic. Cas lets it slide, knowing he can only push Dean so far.

He tilts his head slightly, considering, then lifts a shoulder in a small shrug. “Perhaps. If not, we still know where the tribe will be and we can deal with them the way we originally intended. Although, it would be nice to solve a case without shedding any more blood.”

“Except for the goddess',” Dean amends.

Cas nods. “Except for the goddess’.” He looks down at their entwined hands, resting in the crease between their thighs, then back up to Dean’s face. “Come,” he says, nodding back to the rest bed. “It’s late. Tomorrow we have work to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate having the brothers fight, and I know some of it is similar to what they fought about in the first couple chapters, but it all has to come full circle. :(
> 
>  
> 
> P.S. I'm also kinda super excited in a hugely nerdy way for what I have planned for the next couple chapters. This is the first time I've ever written a case fic that creates (or substantially adds to) the lore -- usually it's like "oh hey, werewolves or whatever, let's kill 'em" *hunt* *kill things* *case over* *let's talk about our feelings*. So, I hope you guys like what I come up with. :)


	9. The Fault in the Logic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is kind of (really) expositiony and lore based, but I had a lot of myth to set up. The next chapter will be more action.
> 
> Oh and expositiony is totally a word, I've decided.

Olivia has never considered her modest townhouse palatial by any means, but with four grown adults sprawled in the living room, poring through old books and strange websites, she’s starting to think the place is downright tiny.

They had started in the kitchen, but after about twenty minutes, Olivia had groaned, stretched, and declared she refused to sit in the hard wooden chair any longer than she had to, and had retreated to one end of the loveseat. It hadn’t taken long for the guys to follow suit.

In the overstuffed armchair that is probably too big for the space (but hey, her parents had passed it on to her when they refurbished their den, and who is she—mere elementary school teacher that she is—to pass up free furniture?), Cas is hunched over a thick and dusty tome. Dean is balancing a laptop, aptly, on his lap, his ankles crossed on the floor in front of him at the end of the full-sized couch closest to Cas’ chair. Despite there being plenty of space for Sam to sit on either the loveseat or the couch, the younger Winchester had still opted for the floor in front of the loveseat where Olivia is curled into a corner with some sort of anthology with far more Greek than she cares to sift through. Using the coffee table as a makeshift desk, Sam switches back and forth between his laptop, a spiral notebook, and a stack of books on the floor beside him.

Yesterday’s research had been focused on the Amazons, but now their efforts are directed on Harmonia—how to summon and kill her.

Olivia takes a sip from her mug and wonders how this became her life.

She steals a glance at Sam, his brow creased in concentration, then catches the tense muscles in Dean’s jaw. Rationally, she knows that Sam and Dean are only four and eight years older than her, respectively, but sometimes they look like they've lived lifetimes, and not easy ones. Sam’s confession the night before—about Emma—had been shocking, not in the least because she knows that it is hardly their worst story. Sam’s eyes had been as hollow as his voice as he spoke, and the look he’d given her at the end almost begged for scorn and punishment.

Instead, she had just felt overwhelmed by the tragedy of it.

It had been a lot to process, but the deep contrition and guilt in the man’s face had told her everything she needed to know—Sam Winchester, for all his faults and the things he’s done, is a good man.

She had told him this, but she knows she can’t offer the forgiveness he desperately craves. This is a family matter.

All she could do was offer acceptance and comfort and love.

She hopes it will be enough for now.

“Fuck this,” Dean mutters from across the room, disturbing her train of thought. He drops the laptop onto the cushion next to him. Without even really looking up from his own screen, Sam reaches next to him and holds out a book to Dean, anticipating his older brother’s next move. Dean takes it, settles back on the couch, then thumbs quickly to the back to the index.

Olivia looks down at the page she’s been re-reading over and over, none of it really sinking in. It doesn’t say anything different than all of the others, just that Harmonia is the goddess of harmony and accord, and from the stories, it seems like no one had ever really wanted to kill her. Why would they? She seemed like a pretty chill deity. An idea niggles the back of her mind until it surfaces into something approaching rational thought.

“This doesn’t make sense. Why would Harmonia curse the Amazons in the first place?” she huffs out, in both annoyance at the apparent logic flaw and the seeming futility of their research. Three heads turn to her with narrowed eyes and furrowed brows.

“Because the gods are dicks…?” Dean offers, as though the point is obvious. Cas shoots him a withering look but doesn't disagree.

Olivia shakes her head. “No, that’s the thing. This is _Harmonia_ , she’s like the hippie flower child of the Greek pantheon. She’s all about peace and agreement. Her name _literally_ means ‘harmony.’ So why would she ‘save’ her worshippers by turning them into patricidal monsters? The curse sounds more like something Artemis or Eris would do.”

“But, we know for a fact that it isn’t one of the other goddesses,” Sam counters, not to be difficult, but just in an attempt to work through the question at hand. He churns the problem over in his mind for a moment. “What if...what if somehow Harmonia was corrupted? It wouldn’t be the first time the old gods had to change their tune or adapt.”

Cas straightens up, struck with a thought. “The necklace,” he declares enigmatically, but Dean and Sam nod.

“I thought I saw that it was cursed or something…” Dean says as he flips back a few pages.

“Maybe not cursed…” Sam adds, and Olivia tries unsuccessfully to follow the train of thought.

“Hold on, back up. What necklace?” she asks.

“Harmonia’s Necklace,” Cas explains, verbally capitalizing the second word. “It was one of the goddess’ symbols, along with her robe, but it was cursed and doomed all of her descendants who took possession of it.”

“You think somehow the Amazons got hold of the necklace?” Dean posits.

“I don’t think so,” Sam answers, tapping quickly on his keyboard and pulling up a new tab on his browser. Olivia leans forward so she can read the screen from over his shoulder. “I found at least one source that says it wasn’t the necklace itself that was evil, but that it bound Harmonia’s goodness. So removing it from the goddess is what made _her_ bad.”

Dean turns this over silently, one eye squinted in thought. “So, if we get the necklace back to her, she’ll start rocking the free love and patchouli again?” Cas and Sam shrug and nod, respectively. “Great, any idea where it ended up?”

“Yes…” Cas starts, then tenses and turns to Dean, horrified. “I don’t...I don’t remember. I used to know the story…”

Sam ducks his head, pretending to be very engrossed in his research, while Dean sits up, reaches over and takes one of Cas’ hands as the ex-angel’s eyes drop to the floor in shame.

“Hey, man,” Dean says quietly in a tone far more gentle than Olivia has yet to hear from the hunter. “Hey, Cas, look at me.” After a second, Cas lifts his gaze, and Dean cups his jaw and runs a thumb along his cheekbone. “It’s ok if you don’t remember anymore. You still know more than me and Sam will ever know in a lifetime combined.”

Before Cas can respond, Olivia nudges Sam with her toe and jerks her head towards the doorway. The younger Winchester nods and hauls himself up from the floor with far more grace than anyone his size has any right to, and the couple makes their way to the kitchen.

“That happen a lot?” Olivia asks, her eyes flicking over to the living room where the hunter and his angel are speaking lowly.

Sam shrugs and runs a hand through his hair. “More and more. Cas struggled for awhile at the beginning when he fell, trying to cope with the loss of his powers, but he at least still had his memories. But I guess a human brain can’t hold as much as an angel’s, so he’s started to forget some stuff.”

“How old _is_ Cas?” Olivia asks as she leans back against the counter near the sink, crossing her legs.

“Older than Earth? We don’t really know. I don’t think Cas really knows. I don’t think time was really measured back then, at least, not in the way we understand it.”

Olivia breathes a low whistle. “That’s a lot of memory.”

“No kidding,” Sam huffs in agreement. “Usually Cas does pretty good with the whole being human thing—I think...I mean, Dean obviously sees more than I do—but I think sometimes it just hits him hard that he isn’t what he was.” Olivia nods in understanding and sympathy.

The voices in the living room stop, and Sam raises an eyebrow and motions back to the room. Hand in hand, they return, although this time Sam joins Olivia on the loveseat. Cas and Dean have silently returned to research, Cas looking determinedly at the text in front of him, Dean’s lips turned downward in a slight frown as he clicks away on his laptop. The older brother gives Sam and Olivia a silent _thanks_ , which the younger brother simply nods to in reply.

“Delphi,” Sam declares without preamble after a few minutes of near quiet. The others look up expectantly as Sam runs a finger across a line of text. “This says, ‘In order to prevent the curse from causing pain and suffering to anyone else, The Necklace of Harmonia was eventually dedicated to the temple of the Oracle at Delphi.'”

An annoyed and defensive expression flashes across Dean’s face. “Fuck that. I’m not going to fucking Greece to find this thing.”

“No one’s going to make you get on a plane, Dean,” Sam rolls his eyes.

“Do you not like flying?” Olivia asks cautiously.

Dean snorts. “At least I’m not afraid of clowns.” Sam chucks a pillow at his brother, who bats it to the floor with hardly an effort.

“Screw you,” Sam says, but both Winchesters let smirks play across their faces.

“Ok,” Olivia interjects, “if we’re not going to Greece—because, no offense, I think it’d take too long to play Indiana Jones or to excavate the whole place, which I’m pretty sure authorities might frown upon—how do we plan on getting the necklace?”

There’s a part of her that marvels at how easily the ‘we’ rolls off her tongue in this situation, as though considering vandalizing a historical site to find a legendary cursed object that may or may not restore sanity to a goddess, who they also plan on summoning, is just such a normal occurrence in her life.

Except, it seems to be just that for the Winchesters.

“We could summon the Oracle and ask for assistance,” Cas suggests. “The Oracle is simply a lesser goddess and prophetess for Apollo. She used to manifest through a human woman, the Pythia, to speak.”

“You want to summon _two_ Greek goddesses?” Dean asks incredulously. Olivia’s glad she’s not the only one with that reaction. Cas lifts a resigned shoulder in response.

“That might work,” Sam adds thoughtfully, then leans forward and snatches a book from the ground. “I already found and wrote down the ritual to summon Harmonia. Bet the summoning for the Oracle’s in here, too.”

Olivia grabs the notebook from the coffee table, giving Sam a _look_ for his chicken-scratch handwriting. Sam returns a sheepish grin that is just far too adorable, before flicking through the book’s vellumy pages. Olivia clears her throat and tries _not_ to adopt her ‘teacher voice’ as she reads the ingredients for the summoning.

“Ok, for Harmonia, it says we need a blessed olive branch and the blood of an adherent, then we draw out her symbol in the mixed blood of the ones doing the summoning. And there have to be at least two people who are in harmony with each other doing the ritual. They join hands and chant the invocation together in unison.” She crinkles her nose. “That’s a lot of blood.”

“Usually the case,” Sam mutters absently from his perusal of the text.

“All right then,” Dean says, ticking off ingredients on his fingers. “Blood of the adherent we’ve got—we can use our clothing from last night. An olive branch shouldn’t be too hard…”

“Many churches use real olive branches in their representations of the dove that returned to Noah,” Cas supplies.

"Is it ok to mix and match religions like that?" Sam asks.

Cas shrugs. "It doesn't specify how the branch should be blessed. I think the intent is for it to be pure and holy, not just a common object. It should be adequate."

Dean smirks deviously. “Look at you, Cas. Rebel against Heaven, give up your Grace, now you want to steal from a church? Badass.”

Cas smiles, though with a touch of sadness. “Well, what is it that humans say? ‘Go big or go home?’”

Dean laughs, and Olivia can tell he didn't miss the hint in Cas' tone, but is choosing to keep things light and upbeat. He ticks off another finger. “Right. Ok, so then, what was next? The people doing all this mumbo jumbo’ve gotta be in harmony or whatever that means?”

Sam pauses his search and looks up at his brother with a quirked brow and clear expression of _Really? You’re an idiot._ “How about a ‘profound bond?’” he deadpans with a pointed look between the other two men. The way Sam says the phrase suggests something indeed profound, and Olivia wonders what that’s all about.

Dean’s face flushes, while Cas just tilts his head in consideration. “That would work,” the former angel intones in all seriousness. Dean scowls, though Olivia suspects it's mostly for show.

“Got it,” Sam says finally, finger landing on a particular passage. “So for the Oracle—blood of one worthy to speak the word of Apollo, a tripod,” he pauses and looks up. “It’s the bowl that the priestesses used to use when they prophesied. The one we use for our spells should do it." Dean nods at the explanation, then gestures for his brother to continue. “And then the blood of the supplicant drawn in sunburst to honor Apollo. And then, of course, the usual sigils and invocation.”

“Awesome,” Dean grunts. “So…‘one worthy to speak the word of Apollo.’ Wasn’t the human Oracle always some young virgin chick?”

Sam looks up at Dean, with a grimace and cautious expression, his mouth starting to open in question. Dean catches the look, visibly squirms, and gives his brother hard eyes and a determined shake of the head. Sam snaps his mouth closed and looks back at the book. Olivia watches the silent communication, then notices how Dean side-eyes Cas, obviously relieved the former angel had been engrossed in his own research and had missed the conversation between the brothers.

Olivia smirks to herself, having decoded the exchange, then nearly chokes in horror as her brain unhelpfully replaces Dean, Cas, and Sam with images of her parents and uncle, along with her eighteen-year-old self cast in the role of Claire. Awkward is an understatement.

Cas looks up from the pages he has been studying after a moment, completely unaware of the family drama that just unfolded. “The Pythia was not always a young virgin. The practice evolved so eventually the Pythia was simply a woman who had gone through purification rites. Sometimes these women were over fifty years of age and had been married before. But essentially, pre-rites, they could be of any age or sexual status.”   

Suddenly Olivia catches three sets of eyes flick self-consciously towards her, and she _knows_ what they’re thinking.

“Aww shit,” she grumbles. “Fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING ABOUT THIS NOTE: Here be nerdiness about Greek mythology. Feel free to skip if it isn’t your thing.
> 
> I tried to blend what is SPN’s canon mythology for Harmonia and the Amazons with actual mythology; the two don’t really jive. For instance, in “The Slice Girls,” Professor Morrison (who will forever be “Mayor Wilkins” to me, but I digress) tells Sam and Dean that the Amazons are the offspring of Harmonia and Ares, but in most of what I’ve found, Harmonia is the daughter of Ares and Aphrodite (or Zeus and Electra). And yeah, ok, so the Greek pantheon is pretty incest-y, but they’re more Targaryen than Oedipal (and I know I’m mixing allusions here...whatever...you get what I mean). 
> 
> Also, for the life of me, I couldn’t find anything linking the Amazons and Harmonia at all, which makes sense, considering she’s all about harmony and agreement and the Amazons were all about being badass warriors. So to make the established SPN mythos work, I appropriated the legend of Harmonia’s cursed necklace and a theory I came across in one source about the removal of the necklace from Harmonia that led to bad things happening. (I also came across a few sources that said it was her robe that was cursed, not the necklace; I feel like I should be providing footnotes and citations for this footnote.) Anyway, I took that and ran with it, accuracy be damned; this is fan fiction for a show that’s already playing fast and loose with mythology, not a dissertation.
> 
> Oh and I definitely took some creative liberties with the lore on the Oracle, namely that she's a goddess that possesses the priestess. *shrug*
> 
> And finally, I apologize to my college professors, who, I’m sure if they ever have the misfortune of reading this, would hit their heads against their desks. Or we would launch into a discussion about modern mythology, epics, and the role of fanfiction in society. It's a toss up. 
> 
> I guess I now owe an apology to everyone who actually read that whole note. This is why I shouldn’t be allowed near the Internets. :)


	10. The Oracle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So originally, this chapter and the next were slated to be all one chapter, but it was just getting to be too much. What that means though, is if I'm feeling productive, I might just have the next chapter up by the end of the day, since I have have it already sketched out. :)

“All right, so, I bathe in the oils and recite some Greek and I’ll be all purified or whatever?” Olivia asks, and Dean recognizes the nonchalance for feigned bravado. He nods and gives her what he hopes is a reassuring smile, just as Sam and Cas burst through the kitchen door in priests’ outfits, Sam holding what looks like an ordinary twig.

“Don’t ask,” Sam grouses at Dean’s raised eyebrow while Cas looks somewhat sheepish. Given Cas’ more extensive religious knowledge and Sam’s renowned ability to sweet-talk anyone with sincerity, the two of them had paired up to steal an olive branch from a church to summon Harmonia, while Dean and Olivia had made a trip to buy the oils for the purification. Dean wonders what went down at the church to get Sam’s panties in a bunch and makes a mental note to ask Cas later.

None of them are comfortable with the idea of bringing a civilian into this, but unfortunately, Olivia’s their best bet in getting this done before the Amazons pack up and go underground for another two years. Dean can only imagine how much worse this is for his brother, especially considering their respective histories with involving non-hunters in their business.

“You don’t have to do this,” Sam suggests again. “We can call up someone else, we know a couple hunters who are probably only a day or two away…”

Olivia draws herself up and puts a little steel in her shoulders before shaking her head. “No, we need to get this over with before anyone else gets hurt. Small price to pay, you know? Just some oil and a little blood, right?”

Cas, however, considers her intensely, like he does, before throwing another wrench in the works. “You should be wearing an all-white robe or dress when you emerge and complete the summoning.”

Olivia raises an eyebrow. “And you’re just telling me this now? I don’t have anything like that.”

“Not even like a sundress or something?” Sam asks cautiously, and Dean feels almost proud of himself for not making a crack about Samantha knowing all about sundresses. See? He can be mature when he wants to be.

“Not exactly my style,” Olivia counters by way of explanation.

“How about a white sheet? Go _Animal House_ toga-style?” Dean suggests, and he’s suddenly thankful that, for the average human, looks cannot kill, because after battling Heaven and Hell, being taken down by the death glare of one 5’3” second grade teacher isn’t exactly the exit from this world that Dean had in mind. Dean shrugs with what he hopes is an endearing _what can I say? I’m just a dumb guy_ smile, before retreating a step back next to Cas.

Suddenly, though, Olivia’s expression clears and she runs upstairs, calling back “Wait a minute! I think I have something!” as she goes. After what ends up amounting to maybe three minutes, Olivia rushes back into the living room holding up what looks to be a very flimsy, short, satiny white dressing robe. Next to the lapel, Dean can see her initials—OLC—embroidered in silver thread in a curly font.

And because Dean feels it’s his big brotherly duty to be a complete pain in the ass whenever (in)appropriate, he elbows Sam and waggles his eyebrows, earning a bitchface from the younger Winchester.

“Calm down. It’s from a spa day for a friend’s bachelorette party,” she explains with a thorough eye-roll at Dean, before turning to Cas. “Will this work?”

“That should be acceptable,” Cas confirms, assessing the garment carefully.

“Well, then, let’s get going. We’re burning daylight.” Dean claps his hands together once, then makes his way out of the house.

 

               

They’re standing in what used to be the fieldhouse for the old high school, a new school having been recently completed across town, according to Olivia. Lacking any abandoned warehouses or factories (the Winchester’s usual go-to for this kind of work), Olivia had suggested this place, which has the added benefits of 1) having a locker room where Olivia can complete the purification rites, and 2) being slated for demolition in two weeks with much pomp and circumstance, so any evidence they leave will be quickly destroyed.

Olivia is in the women’s locker room completing the purification rites while Sam, Cas, and Dean stand around trying not to fidget impatiently. At least, Sam and Dean are. Cas, of course, is as stoic as ever.

“We might not be able to get a straight answer from the Oracle,” Cas warns them. “And we should be careful not to take anything she says at face value.”

“Whadya mean?” Dean asks.

“Well, one of the reasons the Oracle was so popular was because she was never wrong simply because the prophecies could be interpreted so many ways. So, no matter what happened, they always fit the outcome,” Sam explains, clearly grasping at the opportunity to distract himself with nerdy trivia.

“What, like ‘silence will fall when the question is asked?’” Dean jokes with a shit-eating grin that quickly fades when the other two only return blank expressions. “Dammit, where’s Charlie when you need her? You guys are the worst,” he mutters, waving a dismissive hand at them, entirely done with their deplorable cultural ignorance.

Sam side-eyes Dean. “Ok,” he drawls, “whatever that was all about. Anyway, one of the most famous prophecies was given to this king, Croesus, who asked what would happen if he invaded Persia. And the Oracle told Croesus that if he attacks, a great empire will fall. He took it as a sign he was gonna win.”

“Let me guess, didn’t work out that way?” Dean asks.

“The empire that fell was his own,” Sam confirms.

Dean snorts. “Sounds like the kind of shit Gabriel would pull.” He turns to Cas. “You sure your brother wasn’t hanging around Greece back in the day?”

Cas side-eyes Dean. “Hubris, arrogance, and a poorly planned battle strategy—hardly the work of divine intervention or a false Trickster. Besides, my brother was in hiding from the Heavenly Host at the time; influencing the fate of an entire empire is not exactly subtle.”

“Do you mean _the_ Archangel Gabriel?” Olivia wonders as she emerges from the locker room, wrapped in her robe and her hair and skin glistening with oil, but she nearly takes a step back at the stormy looks the question garners. “Ok, touchy subject. Celestial family drama, I’m guessing?”

Sam gives her a small smile. “Sorry. I’ll…”

“Explain later, I know,” she says with a resigned smile. “So, now that I smell like my Nonna’s kitchen, are we ready for this spell?”

As far as summoning spells go, the Oracle’s is not terribly complex, but Dean’s stomach drops as he watches Olivia slice into her arm, drip the blood into the tripod bowl, then crudely sketch a sunburst and sigils around the offerings. From the corner of his eye, he watches Sam’s hands clench at his sides; he knows his brother wants nothing more than to go to Olivia and offer support and comfort and contact, but to do so would undo the purification rites.

Olivia begins the chanting, nervously at first, but her voice grows clearer and more confident as she reads the phonetically-written words Cas transcribed from the original invocation. The acoustics of the abandoned gym, already echoing and haunting, continue to amplify Olivia’s words until Dean knows that the booming crashing against his eardrums has nothing to do with their cavernous surroundings.

The Oracle is coming.

Without even realizing it, Dean takes Cas’ hand in his as a bright, bluish-white light—not unlike angelic Grace—rises in gently weaving tendrils from the bowl. Unable to raise an arm or close his eyes fast enough, a sudden flash sears Dean’s eyes. The flash is almost instantaneous, but it takes a few seconds for the purple spots to clear from Dean’s vision. Judging from the way Sam and Cas are blinking and squinting, they are in the same boat as him.

Olivia, however, is not.

Her normally warm brown eyes glow blue, and even though Dean remembers seeing Cas’ eyes look this way when he was still an angel, he is uncomfortably reminded of when Gadreel was possessing his brother. Clearly, Sam has the same thought because he runs towards Olivia, his voice cracking and raw as he yells, “No! Get out of her!”

“It’s ok, Sam. It’s still me,” Olivia answers, and a small smile plays on her lips, though her eyes do not move.

“How do we know that’s not the Oracle talking?” Dean barks, entirely too familiar with the duplicitous natures of beings that can possess humans.

The woman’s face softens in peaceful confidence as she speaks. “Because I can let this go whenever I want. She asked my permission to communicate through me. She’s not _in_ me, she’s just...speaking to me.”

Sam’s eyes are rooted on Olivia, and he runs an agitated hand through his hair before rounding on Cas. “This was your idea,” he snarls. “How do we stop this?”

Dean puts a hand up, holding his brother back from his partner. “Cas?” he asks, hoping that Cas can confirm what Olivia—if that even is Olivia—is claiming.

“Olivia is not a true priestess or vessel for the Oracle,” Cas explains. “I believe Olivia is telling the truth: she is not possessed, just temporarily connected to the Oracle.”

“Sam, please,” Olivia says from behind them. “I’m fine. I promise. You owe me big time for dragging me into this, but I’m ok. Like I’m thinking a fancy dinner out is just barely gonna cover it.”

Somehow the teasing in her voice seems so genuine, and while Dean doesn’t know Olivia as well as Sam, he finds it hard to believe the Oracle would be able to fake this after such a short possession. Sam’s eyes grow wide with concern, but the anger in his shoulders lessens, and he relaxes slightly.

“You got it, Liv. Roses and all,” he tries in an effort to joke, but it doesn’t quite stick the landing. Still, Dean figures this is better than nothing.

“The Oracle wishes to know why you’ve summoned her,” Olivia announces, then pauses. “Although, I get the sense that she already knows what we’re gonna ask. She just wants to hear you say it.”

“Awesome. And I thought dealing with Missouri was bad enough,” Dean grumbles, thinking uncomfortably of the woman who had so long ago delighted in tormenting the brothers, Dean especially, with anticipating their thoughts and actions.

Cas, however, steps forward with his hands open in front of him, the epitome of a dutiful worshipper seeking guidance. In his low gravel, he addresses the Oracle. “Blessed Oracle, we seek assistance in helping one of your sisters, Harmonia, restore her powers and peace. For that, we require Harmonia’s Necklace, which we have been told is in your possession.”

Olivia doesn’t speak for a moment, her eyes still blazing and distant, and Dean begins to wonder if the Oracle will be able to help at all.

“She says…” Olivia begins before stopping as though in great concentration and effort to be correct. “She says ‘The supplicant will receive that which he requests.’”

Sam looks to Dean hopefully, but Cas’ warning before the summoning echoes in Dean’s mind. “That sounds like a ‘be careful what you wish for’ to me,” he scowls.

Olivia smiles. “The Oracle didn’t say so, but I think she likes you. She seems...pleased you understand.”

“Great,” he huffs. Cas shoots him a look, and Dean is about to retort when Olivia’s eyes glow even brighter, and the bowl sends up more wispy tendrils.

“Close your eyes,” Cas calls, and the three men duck with their eyes clenched shut as another flash of light erupts from the tripod.

When they open, a necklace is sitting next to the bowl as though it has always been there. The gold chain glows in buttery yellow, the green stones sparkle, and hammered silver and gold discs interspersed between the stones reflect the blue-white light still shining from Olivia’s eyes.

“So, we just summon Harmonia, give this back to her, and it’ll fix the Amazons?” Sam asks quietly, almost to himself, as he stares in awe at the jewelry.

“‘Blood must be spilled to bring peace,’” Olivia says, and three heads snap in her direction.

“What?” Dean demands.

“That’s what the Oracle said.” Olivia shrugs. “I’m just repeating her.”

Without warning, the light blinks from her eyes and snuffs out from the bowl. Olivia takes an unsteady step back, and Sam is there in an instant to grab her under the elbow and around the small of her back.

“Are you all right?” he asks, his voice soft and heavy all at once.

“Yeah, I’m fine. That was...weird. Won't be signing up for that again anytime soon.” Olivia blinks dazedly and shakes her head, then looks up at Sam. “I seriously wasn’t kidding about the you needing to make this up to me,” she grins, though the nerves and exhaustion are plain in her features. Sam huffs a relieved laugh, pulling her into a tight embrace and pressing his lips to her forehead.

Dean pulls his eyes away from the couple to see Cas holding up the necklace. “Whoa, buddy, what the hell? We still don’t know for sure if that’s cursed or not!”

Cas looks up placidly. “According to the myth, the supposed curse only affected Harmonia’s descendants, of which, I am decidedly not. Nor are you and Sam. We should be safe.” He turns to Olivia. “Unfortunately, I don’t know your lineage, so it’s probably best if you don’t come in contact with the necklace. Just in case.”

“Fine by me,” Olivia snorts. “Don’t think I have anything it’d go with, anyway.”

Despite the drama and near trauma of the last few minutes, the younger Winchester pulls a classic Sammy and immediately brings the problems of the case right back to the forefront. “Guys, what’d the Oracle mean when she said ‘Blood must be spilled to bring peace?’”

“I dunno, Sammy. Too much fortune cookie crap for me,” Dean complains irritably, scrubbing his face with a hand.

“Maybe the necklace won’t work? And you’ll have to kill Harmonia?” Olivia suggests. Cas nods.

“That could be one interpretation. It could also mean that we must kill the Amazons to prevent them from murdering anyone else.”

“Fuck. You guys are saying we did all this,” Dean gestures around the room and to Olivia, “for nothing?”

Sam’s brow is furrowed and Dean swears he can almost hear the machinery clicking as his nerd of a brother thinks. “Cas,” the younger Winchester asks, “how effective is dried blood in spellwork?”

Dean cocks his head, trying to catch up, then utters a curse when he realizes what his brother is getting at: Marissa and Lydia’s dried blood on their clothing, which they’d been planning on using to summon Harmonia, aka. the goddess of _harmony_ , or, “peace”. The ex-angel considers the question, but Dean can see the defeat in his subtle expression long before Cas replies.

“I have heard it work before, though it might not be enough to summon a goddess,” Cas admits. “Fresh blood, freely given, is the most powerful.”

Sam nods unhappily but resignedly, as though he expected that answer. “I guess we’re going to the farmhouse, Amazon central.”

“Fan-frigging-tastic,” Dean says, though in truth, there’s a part of him ready for a fight to get rid of the adrenaline and frustration that’s been building in him ever since the case began.

“You guys are dropping me off at home first,” Olivia warns. “Then you can have fun storming the castle.”

Despite the situation, Dean snorts a laugh and decides that Sam better keep this girl around...if he can handle her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really really really didn't want anyone, especially a newbie, to get possessed in this fic (consent/agency issues, etc.), so I hope that the fact that Olivia is still Olivia and is in control of herself in this chapter comes through.
> 
> Oh and with this chapter, this is officially the longest fic I've ever written. Go me! (It's also twice the length of my undergraduate thesis...oh how the mighty have fallen...)


	11. The Goddess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I said I might get the next chapter up by the end of the day...and it's almost 11 pm here. Nothing like the (literal) eleventh hour, right? (So if you're just tuning in now for today, make sure you didn't skip the previous chapter!)
> 
> Oh and I'll probably have to give this another read-through in the morning. I'm sure my editing isn't quite up to my usual standards, so apologies on that front for any mistakes.

To say that the severe looking woman in the tailored suit is surprised when Dean marches a guard, a gun to her back, into the barracks of the farmhouse is to ignore the rage that flashes over her face.

Sam comes through the door a minute later, having secured the rest of the perimeter, while Cas trains his weapon on the older woman, mindful of the shocked and scared faces of the five teenage girls in a line, all holding their right arms arms out gingerly. The stench of burned flesh is thick in the air, and behind the leader of the tribe, Cas can see a branding iron’s handle sticking out of a pit of coals.

“You,” the woman snarls when she sees Sam and Dean. “I might have known when Marissa and Lydia did not report back.”

Dean pushes the guard towards the teenagers, while Cas lowers his aim to the floor.

“We are not here to harm you,” Cas offers, raising his left hand, palm up, in peace.

The woman snorts a bitter laugh. “Really? You have the blood of three of our own on your hands.” She turns and gestures to the girls behind her. “And we outnumber you. Girls, you know what to do,” she commands, but the girls look cautiously to each other. None of them move. “Girls!” she demands again. Nothing. One girl, with stringy reddish-blonde hair takes a small step back. The others do the same.

“Not as blood-thirsty when it’s not Daddy Dearest, are they?” Dean mocks.

“No matter,” the woman bites coldly, and the skin around her eyes darkens to red, and she looks to the guard, an athletic brunette in her mid-thirties, for support. The guard nods, and their bodies coil in preparation to attack. The tension in the room thickens, and Cas’ eyes flick between the brothers. Sam takes a step forward, also with an upright hand.

“Look, we don’t want to kill you. We want to save you.”

The women laugh, and the sound sends chills down Cas’ spine.

“Save us?” the guard spits. “We don’t need _men_ to save us. And from what?”

“Can it with the man-hating bullshit,” Dean growls. “We’re here to break the fucking curse Harmonia’s put on you.”

“This is not a curse,” the leader replies coldly. “Harmonia’s blessing is what gives us strength—”

“This is pointless,” Cas interjects, realizing that the women are too entrenched in their beliefs to change now. “They will not listen. We’re wasting time.”

With a nod to the brothers, Cas moves forward towards the guard, Dean following towards the older woman, with Sam providing back up and keeping an eye on the girls, just in case. The guard launches herself at him, but he dodges, fighting back with a lethal combination of the detached efficiency of a former soldier of Heaven and the ruthless brutality of a hunter who has studied under the Winchesters. He knocks her to the floor, pinning her on her stomach, her hands behind her. In his periphery, he can see Dean has done the same to the older woman. Sam tosses each of them zip-tie cuffs, and within less than a minute from when the scuffle began, the women are bound and detained.

Slowly, Cas approaches the teenagers. They look up at him, and the fear in their eyes troubles him, makes him think of Claire and the long road it has taken them to get past the point where she looked at him with anything other than some combination of distrust, betrayal, and fear.

“We want to free you,” he tries to explain, as gently as he can. He nods to the brands on their arms. “We are going to attempt to summon Harmonia and break the curse that makes you want to kill.”

“It’s our duty to the tribe,” one girl, with dark curls framing her face, replies, jutting out her chin.

"Not any more, we hope,” he answers.

“Cas!” Dean calls from across the dusty and spartan room, and the former angel turns. “We gotta get this spell going. And we still need the blood of one of ‘em.” Despite the apparent neutrality of Dean’s tone, Cas can detect the undercurrent of guilt and regret in his voice. Additionally, the fact that Dean, who typically bonds well with children and youths, seems determined to keep his distance from the teens speaks volumes to Cas about the weight on Dean's mind.

One of the girls, a tallish blonde with light eyes that may be blue or grey—the dim lighting makes it difficult to tell—steps forward from the group. She looks at her superiors, bound and gagged, then back at her peers, before fixing her gaze squarely on Dean.

“If you do this spell, and it works, does this mean we get a normal life?” she asks. Dean swallows as he returns her gaze, and nods. Cas looks between them, sees the pain in his partner’s face, and he wonders if Emma had looked like this girl. The girl considers his expression, shrewd eyes searching for a lie, before she, too, nods and holds out her arm to Cas. “You said you needed blood,” she states simply. Behind Cas, he can hear the muffled diatribe of the leader of the Amazons, but the girl ignores her and continues to offer her arm.

“Thank you,” Cas says. Sam walks up with a bowl holding the olive branch and knife, and in a swift motion, he nicks a vein, letting the blood drip into the bowl over the branch. After a few drops, the younger Winchester stops, and hands her gauze for the wound with a murmured apology.

The hunters clear a space to draw out Harmonia’s sigil, and over a separate bowl, Dean and Cas cut deeper wounds into their arms; they will need far more blood to complete their portion of the summoning.

“Always happy to bleed for the Winchesters,” Cas says quietly to Dean, recalling his words from long ago.

The corners of Dean’s mouth quirk up. “And they say romance is dead,” he snarks. Cas breathes a soft laugh.

With their blood mixed, they quickly draw out Harmonia’s symbol, then Dean pulls out the paper with the Greek invocation on it from his pocket; Cas, being fluent in the language, already has it memorized. His partner gives it a second run through, mouthing the words soundlessly.

“All right, so you two have to hold hands over the offering as you repeat the spell in unison,” Sam instructs, and the couple moves into position.

“And then we sing Kumbaya?” Dean quips, earning a sigh of exasperation from Sam. Cas offers a reassuring smile instead, knowing Dean’s bluster is a mask for his discomfort about the forthcoming public display of their bond. “Well, Cas, may I have this dance?” the hunter jokes, offering his hands.

“I’d be honored,” Cas replies with mild sarcasm, inclining his head slightly in acceptance. He takes the hunter’s hands, the familiar callouses and scars rough against his own. Dean’s grip is strong and warm, and Cas marvels at how their hands seem made for each other, how perfectly they fit. But for some reason, Cas has a sudden gut feeling that this is not enough. Cas drops Dean’s hands, and the hunter looks at him, bewildered and perhaps a little hurt. “Dean, take off your jacket and overshirt.”

Dean raises an eyebrow and smirks. “Really, Cas? Now?”

Cas gives him a sardonic look in reply. “Dean,” he admonishes gently. “Please.”

“All right, all right,” Dean answers, complying at once without further question, despite the confused look on Sam’s face in the corner.

In just a black t-shirt, Dean shivers slightly in the cold. He tosses the coat and flannel over to his brother, then, turning back to Cas, holds out his arms as if to say, _Well? Happy now? You like what you see?_ Cas simply steps forward and places his left hand over the Enochian mark on Dean’s right forearm, while his right fingers slide up Dean’s sleeve to his shoulder where the very faint outline of the handprint scar remains. Dean’s hands mirror Cas’, finding Cas’ forearm and shoulder. Immediately, Cas can feel the comforting thrum of power as Cas’ newly human soul finds his former Grace mixed with the brightness of Dean’s soul.

Dean’s eyes widen in understanding as they look deeply into Cas’. The letter of the spell might ask for joined hands, but the spirit of the spell asks for harmony. Besides, when have the Winchesters ever done anything the way they’re supposed to? At once, the two men begin the chant, the ancient words rolling off their tongues as though they were meant for this. Their voices rumble in unison, the power of the summoning drowning out any sounds from their surroundings. All Cas can see and hear is Dean as their voices and souls blend.

“Harmonia,” they invoke, reaching the last word of the spell, and suddenly a black light—Cas isn’t sure how light can be _black_ , but it is—erupts from the bowl between them and a force rips them apart, throwing them against opposite walls. Cas thuds dully against the warped and rotten boards before sinking to the floor, and through dazed eyes, he sees a female figure materialize in the center of the room.

“Dean?! Cas?!” Sam calls.

“M’ok, Sammy,” Dean chokes out. “Cas?”

“I’m fine,” Cas replies with a groan, hauling himself off the floor in a cloud of dust.

Harmonia’s eyes, a dark bottomless brown, flick frenetically around the room and a cruel smile plays at her lips. Heavy, dark curls of hair are piled haphazardly upon her head, and her blue robe looks rumpled. Cas is reminded of when Charlie insisted they watch _Harry Potter_ —this goddess and Bellatrix Lestrange would get along well.

“I’ve never felt two souls in such harmony before,” the goddess sneers as she watches Dean and Cas dust themselves off and approach Sam, still standing in between the two. Suddenly, the wild tracking of her eyes stops and her gaze locks onto Cas. “Ah, I might have known. Castiel, the fallen angel. You’ve made quite a name for yourself, even to us _pagans_.” The term drips off her tongue in deep condescension.

“I no longer go by that name,” Cas asserts, and Dean gives him a silent look of support.

“No, I don’t suppose you would. Not very much god of any sort in you anymore,” she taunts. “I must say, though, I like your style: rebelling against your father and brethren, leading a civil war, opening Purgatory...although you have an unfortunate habit of fixing everything.”

Cas makes no reply to this, but he feels his hands clench at his sides as his former crimes are laid bare before him. Harmonia shrugs when she gets no reaction, then turns her attention to the brothers and then the Amazons.

“Ah, my daughters,” she croons. “But why have you not fulfilled your mission? Your _duty_ to your goddess?” Before any of them can reply, Sam steps forward and holds out the necklace. The goddess eyes it with scorn. “And why would I want that old relic back?”

“Because this isn’t who you are, Harmonia,” Sam explains. “This,” he gestures to the Amazons, “this isn’t what you stand for.”

“What I stand for?” she scoffs. “Who are you to define a goddess?”

“Fine,” Dean snaps out with far more nonchalance than the situation probably warrants. “You don’t want to take back the necklace, we’ll just take you out. Wouldn’t be the first time we killed a god.”    

Cas tries not to let his face show his exasperation with his partner. He has a feeling that if Dean ever meets Cas’ Father, the first thing he will do is attempt to punch Him in the face; divine power has never intimidated the man, even if it should. Instead, though, Cas studies Harmonia, trying to find the chink in the armor.

"If you don’t take back the necklace,” he hedges, “the corruption will weaken and kill you. You are not as powerful as you once were.” Harmonia’s eyes narrow at him, and he knows he’s hit upon a truth. The memories of stolen Grace eating away at him from the core surface in his mind, and he feels revulsed at his own past degradation. “Believe me, I know what that is like.”

“I have survived so far,” she counters, but far less confidently than before. “Besides, _they_ give me power.” Harmonia turns slightly and gestures towards the girls. “Their _kills_ strengthen me. And,” she drawls, with a snap of her fingers, “I think they’re almost ready for the hunt, and _no one_ will stand in their way.”

Cas immediately looks towards the girls and notes the more rapid breathing, the flesh around their eyes growing darker.

“Fuck,” Dean breathes, ever eloquent.

“Mmm,” Harmonia hums. “The first kill is supposed to be their fathers, but I think we can make an exception this time.”

“Make it stop!” a small and hoarse voice cries in desperation, and the blonde girl who offered her blood stares at them, pleading and panting quickly.

“Why, my child?” Harmonia sing-songs deviously, turning to face the teens. “This is—”

Her words are cut off, however, as Sam takes the momentary distraction to lunge at the goddess, tackling her to the floor, but dropping the necklace in the process. Dean and Cas charge after him, Dean scrabbling the necklace from the ground and looping it around her neck just as Sam gets bucked off and Cas moves to take his place in pinning her. As soon as the necklace reaches her throat, the room bursts into light, but it is warm and yellow. Immediately, the cruel lines of Harmonia’s face fade, her hair seems to positively shine, and her eyes lighten into a soft golden brown.

“I won’t harm you,” she says softly as the light dissipates, the harshness gone from her tone.

Cautiously, the hunters release her and she rises, an ethereal glow emanating from the necklace. A feeling of peace and safety washes over Cas, and from the looks on the brothers’ faces, they feel it as well. She lifts a hand, thumb and forefinger meeting lightly with the grace of a dancer, and with a gentle flick of the wrist, the labored, feral breathing from the teenage girls ends and they sink to the floor in exhaustion. The goddess glides over to them, her lips curling up softly. She lays a palm on the cheek of one of the girls, the dark haired one who had defiantly declared her obligation to the tribe to Cas earlier.

“I’m so sorry, little one. I release you from your duty,” she murmurs. “I release all of you.”

A faint glow of yellow light shines from each of the girls’ wrists, and Cas watches them look wondrously at the unblemished skin.

“So that’s it? They’re safe now? They’re human?” Sam asks, hopeful.

The goddess straightens and turns, a sorrowful expression on her lovely face. “I can only save those who have not completed their initiation and killed. The adult women of the tribe will no longer be bound to breed like they were, but I cannot remove the corruption from their souls, nor can I do anything for the souls of those who have already passed.” Perhaps Cas is imagining it, but he thinks Harmonia’s gaze lingers slightly on Dean as she says that. She turns to the Amazon leader and the guard, and at once their restraints and gags fall away. “You are free to go, provided you live in harmony with those around you.”

“But Blessed Harmonia,” the leader begins, averting her eyes, “all that we have done, we have done for _you_ , we hunt in your name, and—”

“And now you will live in peace in my name,” Harmonia replies, her voice firm but not unkind. “ _That_ is how you are bound to me now.”

“We understand,” the guard replies, obviously more willing to accept the new philosophy in order to stay on a goddess’ good side. Cas can only hope the leader sees the wisdom in that.

Satisfied, Harmonia turns back to the hunters, her fingers lightly brushing the necklace. “I don’t know how I can repay you. Perhaps I can offer you the promise of a favor to repaid in the future.”

Sam and Dean look to each other, and the older brother shrugs. “‘Bout time we had a goddess in our corner,” Dean agrees irreverently.

Cas fights the urge to roll his eyes at his partner's flippancy, even though he knows that this blatant refusal be cowed by destiny or the divine is one of the reasons Cas fell, in all senses of the word, for Dean and humanity; Dean Winchester is the one who showed Cas that not being just a "hammer" was a good thing, the right thing. Unfortunately, in the face of a benevolent goddess, such attitudes are probably unwarranted.

“We gladly accept your generosity,” the former angel thus replies. Cas may not be good at charming humans, and he may have many enemies amongst the servants of his Father, but he knows how to treat a deity with respect—even if he doesn’t often find the occasion to do so. The goddess offers Cas a warm smile before looking back at the brothers and frowning slightly.

“There is much discord between the two of you, especially considering how much you have been through together,” she observes. “If you wish, I can—”

“Gonna stop you right there,” Dean says, holding up a hand.

“Dean—” Sam hisses, but Dean just looks at him incredulously.

“What? We got problems, man, I ain’t denying it, but there’s no way I’m letting some goddess try and _fix_ us. Had enough divine intervention in our family, thanks.”

Sam settles, then offers his brother a reluctant half-grin. “Team Free Will?”

“Exactly.” Dean turns back to Harmonia. “So yeah, thanks but no thanks. We’ll just take our IOU and go.”

Harmonia, who has been watching the exchange between the brothers, simply bows graciously. “I understand.”

Dean claps Sam on the shoulder, then motions with his head to Cas towards the exit.

But, before they leave, there is one concern Cas needs resolved. “What will happen to the girls?” Cas wonders.

“They are under my protection,” Harmonia assures him. “Those who have willing and welcoming mothers will return home, and I will find safe homes for those who do not. You have my word.”

“Thank you,” Cas replies, and catches Dean’s eye. The hunter regards him softly, and waits for Cas to catch up to him and Sam. Together, in relative harmony, the three Winchesters leave the barracks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a quick explanation about Harmonia's taunt about Cas' name and how there isn't "very much god of any sort in [him] anymore": basically, anytime you see the suffix "-iel", "-ael", or "-el" in a Judeo-Christian name, it refers to God, so Cas no longer keeping that part of his name symbolizes his fall, and that he is embracing his human life (and the human who nicknamed him).
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> Random side note apropos of nothing: When I was writing the summoning scene where Dean and Cas use their bond to call Harmonia, all I could think of was how BtVs used magic as very non-subtle metaphor for sex between Tara and Willow. Do with that what you will.
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> 
> Ok, so one more chapter, thennnnnnnnnn an epilogue. (So it'll be thirteen total; I've actually had the epilogue written since maybe the 4th chapter of this. Can't wait! Hope you can't either!).


	12. Harmony

_The woods are dark, and as he runs, the trees seem to both block him and rush past him as water breaks around rocks. The snow should crunch under his shoes, but instead he feels himself slipping and sinking like he’s running in sand. There’s no path, no light shining from the distance, and yet he knows this is the same woods where he killed Lydia._

_In the clearing he sees her. Emma. Her body is broken and splayed on the ground, and the blood pools out from under her, staining the snow. So much blood. It’s on his hands, he knows. He looks down at her, recognizes the green in her eyes—his eyes—as she stares up at him in death. Her body seems so small, so young. Her hair shines in the cold light._

_There is a weight in his hand, and he knows without looking that it’s the gun that killed her._

_“You weren’t really mine,” he lies to her lifeless eyes._

_“Yes, I was,” Emma says, though her corpse-pale lips don’t move._

_She is standing before him now, but it’s no longer Emma. Blonde hair still, but blue eyes, impossibly blue eyes._

_“You get that this is my last chance to have anything normal ever, right?” Claire asks him._

_“I’m trying,” he chokes out, even though he knows this isn’t right. Those aren’t Claire’s words, and he knows the truth and the lie in his own. He is trying, but it won’t help._

_He looks down at the gun, and finds the First Blade, though it shines silver like the blade of an angel. He can feel his arm shaking, aching to act._

_“No!” he grinds out through clenched teeth, but he knows it won’t stop anything—_

 

“Dean! Dean!”

Strong hands shake him, grip his shoulder, and dig into skin and muscle. With force, Dean rips open his eyes and finds Cas’, almost navy blue in the faint glow from the angel’s phone screen, charging on the stand beside the bed.

“Cas...what…?” he asks, blinking and trying to get his bearings. _The bunker. I’m back in the bunker. It’s just Cas. It wasn’t real. Claire is fine. Emma is…_  He swallows thickly.

“You were dreaming and thrashing,” Cas says, his low voice somehow soothing in its roughness. His hand moves up to Dean’s face, palm warm against his cheek as he runs his thumb just over Dean’s eyebrow. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” he chokes out. He concentrates on his breathing, willing his heart to steady its frantic pace. Cas’ eyes are searching, and Dean knows he can see through the lie, but he doesn’t comment. “It’s ok, Cas. Just the usual crap, you know?”

Cas purses his lips and tilts his head sadly. “You know you can tell me, if you need to.”

“Yeah, I know.”

But he can’t tell Cas. Can’t tell him that instead of just seeing Emma dying, he sees Claire. He _knows_ he didn’t kill Emma, he _knows_ he would never hurt Claire, not intentionally, but he still fears the darkness in him, the darkness of his past failures and mistakes, the darkness of his life that always threatens to—and often does—destroy everything and everyone he loves. It’s only a matter of time before he fucks up this little family he’s carved out for himself.

"I'm fine, Cas. I just...can't talk about it right now," he says quietly. It's not Cas' fault Dean's an admittedly uncommunicative bastard, and Dean's guilt increases when he sees the flash of hurt on his partner's face before retreating back to concern and worry. He _knows_ he should talk to Cas. And he will. Just not yet.

No matter what he does, Dean always feels like he's saying the wrong thing, pushing people away. If Cas only knew—although Dean thinks he does—just how much Dean needs him, even if Dean can't say the words himself. So instead, in one hand, he takes Cas' own from his face, moving the other man's fingers to his left shoulder to fit over the scar before wrapping his own hand around the back of Cas' neck and pulling him down until their lips meet.

"I'm always here, Dean," Cas murmurs. "Always."

"Me too," Dean says because he knows he's not the only one who's fucked up in the head and needs someone to be there for them, even if tonight Cas is the stable one. He hopes Cas understands how much Dean means what he says. Cas' eyes crinkle at the corners, and yeah, he gets it. 

Cas doesn’t press the nightmare matter any further, for which Dean is thankful, but instead settles himself back in the bed, pulling Dean close. Dean lets himself be held, taking comfort in those strong arms, and he finally feels his heart and breathing slow to something approaching normal. They lay there in the dark, the dim shapes of their few possessions seeming to move on the wall in the fuzzy light, and Dean even manages to smile to himself at how Cas _never_ seems to remember to turn off his phone’s screen when he plugs it in, but finds himself oddly grateful for it tonight as his eyes rove the room sleeplessly.

It’s been two days since they returned from their showdown with Harmonia and the Amazons, and the nightmares have yet to abate. Dean’s no stranger to bad dreams and cold sweats—none of them are—but that doesn’t mean they get any easier to handle or forget. After a few minutes, Cas’ breathing slows to the steady rhythm of sleep. The hunter turns his head to the clock on his nightstand. 4:37 am. He sighs softly. He knows he won’t fall back to sleep again. He’s not sure he wants to.

He waits until 5:00 on the dot, silently counting off the minutes in his head, then carefully slides himself out from Cas’ embrace so as not to wake him. Instantly, he misses the warmth of the blankets and the press of Cas’ body to his, but his mind is too restless to stay and enjoy the peace.

Down the darkened hall, Dean sees a faint glow from Claire’s door, cracked open a few inches. Quietly, he eases the door open further, and lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding when he sees her huddled form under blankets that rise and fall softly as she breathes. In sleep, she looks so much younger than her eighteen years, more like the twelve year old he met when her life fell apart. But the Christmas lights she has strung up around the room seem to return that sense of innocence and safety to her, and he smiles with a mix of relief and fondness.

At the foot of her bed, Jared, the normally energetic ball of shedding fur that Sam seems to think is a dog and a pet, cracks an eye at Dean before obviously deciding the man isn’t a threat, yawns with a giant pink tongue, and slips back into sleep. Softly, Dean leaves, his socked feet whispering quietly down the hall towards the kitchen.

 

 

It’s just after 1:30 in the afternoon when Sam clatters down the metal steps from the entrance to the bunker. Dean is at one of the library tables, diligently cleaning a few of their lesser used firearms, and he only gives his brother a grunt in greeting as he concentrates on his work.

“Hello to you, too,” Sam says, then looks around the bunker library.

“If you’re here to pick up the dog, Cas and Claire’ve got him out for a walk. Should be back soon,” Dean explains.

“Thanks,” Sam acknowledges absently, and Dean looks up at his brother, who is sporting that look on his face that says he has something he wants to talk about—or worse, wants _Dean_ to talk about. Dean chooses to ignore it and instead grabs the next piece in reassembling the gun in front of him. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Sam run a hand through that ridiculously long hair of his before sitting in the chair diagonal from Dean.

“How’s Olivia holding up?” Dean offers, hoping the question will keep Sam from asking about him. It’s only a stalling tactic, he knows—Sam’s a persistent sonofabitch when he wants to be.

“Good,” Sam says cautiously. “I, uh, told her everything. Yellow Eyes, the Apocalypse, Hell, Leviathans, the Mark, angels and demons...all of it. Whole fucking mess.”

Dean’s hands freeze and he lays down the half-assembled pistol. He remembers the first girl he ever told the truth to, Cassie Robinson, the first person he loved (and yes, he’s aware of the cosmic irony in the similarity between her name and Cas’). He remembers clearly the hurt and betrayal on her face as she kicked him out and told him she never wanted to see him again, the way the tears—and Cassie _never_ cried—threatened to spill over hot, angry cheeks. He remembers ducking his head in shame and anger as he threw himself into the car and drove off, but with a backwards glance, he’ll admit to himself now.

“And…?” he asks Sam, his voice quiet with concern and sympathetic apology. Olivia was cool, and she’d handled her own with the Oracle, but maybe the whole truth had been too much, especially considering all that the brothers have done and been through over the years. Hell, Cassie got off easy.

Sam leans back in his chair and huffs out a smile. “It was...hard. For both of us, for me to tell and for her to hear. But I think it’s better if she knows.”

“And everything is good with you two?”

“Yeah,” Sam says, but Dean is immediately concerned when the smile falls from his brother’s face.

“What’s the matter? You just said you told her everything and she was cool with it. Isn’t that a good thing?” Dean asks, confusion drawing his brows together.

“It is good, really,” Sam replies, the smile returning briefly. “It’s just...my whole life, I wanted to get out of this life, and whenever I thought I found someone where I could hide it all and pretend to be normal, it never worked out. But with Olivia, she knows _everything_ and _accepts_ everything, and it’s great, but all I can think is, what if I hadn’t hidden who I was? Like with Jess…”

“No, Sammy,” Dean interrupts, even though his brother’s train of thought had more or less petered out. “It wouldn’t have mattered if she’d known or not. Mom knew, Mom was a freaking hunter, and they still killed her. We were screwed from the start.”

Sam’s jaw tightens, but eventually he nods in reluctant agreement. “She should’ve known, though. I should’ve told her the truth.”

“Maybe. I dunno, man,” Dean replies as he rubs the back of his neck. “I wish I had an answer for you, I do. I think you just gotta take the win on this one, though: we saved a bunch of kids, finally got on a goddess’ good side, and you have a pretty awesome chick who understands this nightmare circus and still wants to put up with you...and your girly hair.”

The jab has its intended effect, and Sam falls more easily back into brother mode as he replies, tossing back his hair, “You’re just jealous.”

Dean snorts and smirks in response. “Right.”

“You know,” Sam begins, cautiously, and Dean grimaces at the realization that the deflection and stalling portion of their talk has ended, “I’m not saying I didn’t deserve this,” Sam gestures to his lip, still bruised and a little swollen from where Dean punched him, “for whatever stupid crack I was gonna make about Benny, but maybe we wouldn’t have gotten to that point if we actually told each other shit.”

“Really, Sam? This again? Didn’t we already hug this one out?” Dean grumbles.

“No, Dean, not really,” Sam sighs. “Look, I’m just saying that maybe you don’t want to talk about how living in Gabriel’s Suburban Wonderland fucked you up. Fine. You’ve got Cas and Charlie, hell, even Claire, and you know what, there are things I’d rather talk to other people about than with you. But I knew this case had gotten into your head 'cause of Emma, but you wouldn't _say_ anything, so it just blew up in both our faces. You can’t keep shit from me if it’s important to hunting, ok?”

Dean stares at him, his teeth clenching. “I already told you I shoulda told you about Gabriel,” he defends. “What more do you want me to do, Sammy? Apologize for hitting you and taking all this shit out on you? To tell you about how for the last few nights—” Dean stops himself, the memory of the dream making the bile rise in his throat. “I don’t know what you want from me,” he finishes angrily.

Sam studies him, eyes heavy. “I just...don’t want one of us to end up dead or hurt because the other one was too stubborn to talk. That’s all.”

Dean lets out a pained sighed. “Yeah, all right.”

“I really am sorry, Dean. For what I did, that I didn’t care back then,” Sam adds.

Dean shakes his head, irrationally annoyed with his brother’s guilt despite the fact that _Sam_ was the one who was recently lied to and punched in the face. “Don’t, Sam. I don’t blame you. It’s not something I’m gonna forget or even really get over, but...we’re good.” 

 _"There's no such thing as closure when it's your kid, Sam,"_  Dean remembers telling his brother about a year ago after the case with the witch and his teenage ghost army. The words are as true now as they were then. But there's a difference between closure and forgiveness. Dean can manage the latter, if not the former.

The younger Winchester looks up, and fuck if Dean’s heart doesn’t break when he sees the guilt and the need to be forgiven in his brother’s eyes. It’s always been one of Sam’s best and worst parts of him. Dean picks up the gun again, slotting the last few pieces together with efficient clicks.

“Maybe we could’ve used some of Harmonia’s good vibes,” Sam suggests wryly after a moment.

“No way, man. If I’m gonna go around handing out hugs and telling everyone they’re my best friend, there better be a way more fun—and possibly illegal—reason for it than getting mojoed by some crazy goddess,” Dean jokes, hoping to put the tension behind them. Sam laughs, and for a moment, everything seems like it’s right again between the brothers. “Hey, Sam…”

Sam looks to him, but before Dean can tell him he’s sorry, the bunker door opens and happy yips accompany the yellow furball hurtling towards them with Claire and Cas not far behind. The dog rushes right over to Sam, who greets him with enthusiastic scratches behind the ears. Claire shucks her coat, then joins Sam and Jared, while Cas just looks between the brothers, then silently questions Dean. The hunter gives a small smile, telling him everything is fine. After thanking Claire for watching out for Jared while he was gone, Sam stands and says he’s going to grab the dog’s stuff and head back to the apartment.

Even though Sam’s only going a mile and a half away and Dean’ll probably see him tomorrow, he still gets up and pulls his overgrown brother into a hug before Sam leaves. The Winchesters have never been good with words, but, so far, they’ve done ok with actions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! C'est fini.
> 
> Well, except for the epilogue. :)


	13. EPILOGUE (of sorts)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting two chapters at once, so make sure you didn't miss the previous one!

Coda to 8x19 “Taxi Driver”

 

_“Every soul here is a monster. This is where they come to prey upon each other for all eternity.” - Castiel, 7x23 “Survival of the Fittest”_

 

**_2012/2013 (Earth-time)_ **

 

The sky is grey above her—cold, distant, flat.

She sits up, her fingers scrabbling at her neck, expecting...something. But she is whole, unscathed.

For a second, in her mind’s eye, she sees...her father? Sees his eyes narrowed in battle, then widened in recognition. She feels the blade from behind her slice through her neck.

Then it was black. Then she was here.

The trees around her are not right. This is not where she fought her human father and the vampire with her sisters. This is…

She surveys the area.

This is where it all began. Where she first arrived in this place.

Closing her eyes, she shakes her head to clear it, and with the motion goes the memory of her last fight, her memories of her many fights in this place, as though they were never there. She sways slightly, nearly passes out, and she leans back on one hand, palm splayed in the mossy dirt of the muted forest.

The fog in her head clears, the pounding throb behind her left eye eases, and she opens her eyes.

Panicked, disoriented, she looks around her, completely overwhelmed with what she sees.

 _I’m dead I’m dead I’m dead he shot me_ , is all she can think. It’s the last thing she can remember: pleading her father not to let his brother kill her, the torn look in his eyes, the cold calculation in his brother’s, the heat of the _need_ to kill, Harmonia’s curse pumping through her, calling her to join her sisters in the tribe.

The shot.

And then...here. Wherever this is.

_Is this Hell?_

It might as well be.

 

**

 

She doesn’t know how long she’s been here, hunting and being hunted. A year? Maybe more? Maybe less?

Time feels static.

It doesn’t matter.

She feels drawn to the deep woods, something calling to her—or at least, part of her. The part of her whose eyes are green, not the part of her whose skin flashes red around those same eyes when she prepares to fight.

It’s at the top of a steep, craggy hill. It glows blue, the only true color in this washed out world. She’d forgotten about color. The wind whips up the scattered detritus of the forest floor, and she feels simultaneously pulled towards this door—for that is what it must be—and repulsed by it.

There is a figure climbing towards it, and she thinks she can smell...human? Familiar human. But that can’t be right. Not here. Not in this place.

It doesn’t matter, because suddenly the stench of rotten evil overpowers her, and she nearly retches as these creatures—Leviathans, she’s heard them called—descend around a lone vampire, apparently sacrificing himself to protect the human climbing towards the portal.

It makes no sense.

She turns to flee, hoping to escape from the Leviathans unnoticed when one lands in front of her, startling her out of the brush in which she’d been hiding and into the clearing with the outnumbered vampire.

She has no choice but to fight, and her teeth bare in a snarl as she whips up the crudely constructed blade that has so far let her survive this place.

She ends up back to back with the vampire, and despite having no love for the species, she would rather take her chances fighting him later, after the Leviathans are gone.

A brief glance tells her that he thinks the same. An unholy and temporary alliance.

It is Purgatory after all.

Surprisingly, she and the vampire fight efficiently together, though she always keeps a wary eye on him, not trusting him to not turn on her.

Somehow, they annihilate the Leviathans, making vicious, toothy heads loll on the forest floor with thick, black, goo oozing from open wounds and severed necks.

Her blade is also dripping with the stuff, and she turns to face the vampire. He, too, has his blade raised. She glares at him in challenge.

But then, he raises his other hand, palm up. And speaks. It’s been so long since anyone has spoken to her except in guttural growls.

“Whoa, sister,” the vampire drawls. “I got no quarrel with you. Let’s say we part ways as friends.”

 _Friends?_ The word is rusty in her memory.

“We aren’t friends,” she rasps darkly, her voice cracked from disuse.

“Fair enough,” he answers with a raised shoulder of indifference. Suddenly, his eyes narrow as he regards her, and she can see his nostrils flare slightly. His eyes widen again in surprise. “No...can’t be.”

“Can’t be what?” She asks as she tenses her muscles, coiling them, ready to strike.

“Your blood. It reminds me of...Dean. Dean Winchester,” he explains. The name catches her off guard and she freezes.

“How do you know my father?” she blurts, and the memory of their only meeting, a memory she hasn’t thought of in _ages_ , comes rushing back to her. Bile fills her mouth, and she swallows it back painfully, the acid tearing at her throat.

A faint smile flashes on his face. “Kid, Dean’s like a brother to me, believe it or not.”

“I don’t.”

And even if she did believe him, calling himself Dean’s brother is hardly the way to win her over, considering what her father’s actual brother did to her. She studies the vampire with cold calculation.

“Suit yourself. Like I said, though, I ain’t got a reason to fight you, unless you give me one. We can walk away.”

“Why would I trust you? You might just kill me like them.” She jerks her head at the Leviathans, and realizes that their heads have started to make their way back to their bodies. She should leave _now._

But for some reason, her words make the vampire laugh richly. It’s a laugh that’s too bright and real and warm for this place. She...likes it. It feels...safe.

She has never known safe.

“ _Chère_ , that’s exactly what your daddy said when we first met. So I’ll tell you what I told him. First rule of Purgatory: you can’t trust nobody. But right now, that don’t matter, because if we don’t get out of here before those bastards put themselves back together, we won’t have time to trust or doubt nobody ever again.”

He waits for just a moment for her to reply, then lowers his weapon. He smirks, shrugs, and makes his way towards the path, away from the cliff where the portal has long since closed. She doesn’t move. Just as he reaches the edge of the clearing, he turns.

“You coming, kid?”

She doesn’t even know his name, or why she’s sort of trusting a vampire in the first place, but she takes one final look at the retracting black goo and the malevolent eyes in the Leviathans’ heads, then nods and jogs after him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve had this headcanon about Purgatory for awhile, and I think it answers two questions: 1) where does a monster soul go if it dies in Purgatory? and 2) how come, if Benny’s been traipsing around Purgatory for fifty years, [his clothing](https://samanddeanbrothersinarms.files.wordpress.com/2013/06/supernatural-season-8-purgatory6.jpg) looks surprisingly well-kept compared to that of Dean or Cas, besides the fact that he’s just a fucking classy dude? (And ok, the second one probably isn’t quite as important as the first, but it is something I noticed while watching Season 8.) 
> 
> Basically, I envision Purgatory like a videogame with no save options mid-level: if you die, you lose all your progress and have to repeat the level all over again. So, even though there’s no such thing as a final “death” on this plane, being essentially erased and having to start over is a pretty unpleasant fate, which is why the threat of “dying” is still very real to the monsters.
> 
> Which means Benny has probably been reset a couple times and doesn’t even know it. 
> 
> And yes, I find it sad/ironic that Emma trusts Benny in this and that Benny only recognizes her as Dean’s daughter now, neither of them having any idea that Benny killed her once before.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, especially to those of you who gave feedback and love along the way. Kudos and comments are always appreciated and they make my day!


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